Days of Daylight
by Most Fantastical
Summary: There are days of glory and days of darkness. Broken days and those that bring us together. They are all connected by the same sun and moon and amulet. Daylight December prompts, series of unconnected oneshots. Updated daily throughout December. Features main cast, I just ran out of characters.
1. Chapter 1

Oneshots based on the December of Daylight prompts. Genres will change, story is rated T for safety. Merlin's portrayal may also be more negative than in my other stories based on the prompt and the idea that formed based on it. Also, unless otherwise stated in the oneshot, Jim is in his human form, regardless of whether it takes before or after the end of the third season. Just consider it an AU or a hopeful dream for future series. I will usually note which of the forms he's in for simplicity's sake if he features. I can't tag the prompt on fan fiction but I hope you enjoy these snippets anyway.

Magic Market Mayhem is nearing completion and What Only We Could Do will follow it shortly. The former will be uploaded as a single entry so those most interested in the finale will not have to see multiple updates for a story that – while I hope they find it enjoyable – is not as heavy as the finale. At any rate, please enjoy the December of Daylight prompts. I hope to upload a story each day of December it at all possible. Multiple genres and multiple characters will feature.

* * *

Days of Daylight

* * *

Prompt One

For the Glory

* * *

Aaarrrgghh very much enjoyed PyroBligst. And that made him uneasy.

It was so similar to a battle. The bodily contact, the roars of rage and effort and the audience's swelling cries of joy and dismay. Violence to attain a victory, wrestling the ball away from the other team, searing any injuries with molten metal so one could keep fighting…it was a game that had been created to teach young trolls to enjoy combat, strife, and glory.

Most trolls did like those things to a degree anyway. They all liked a good tussle or a match of strength. But PyroBligst…Aaarrrgghh liked this game too much for comfort.

Perhaps for a human, two hundred years of being free of Gunmar and practicing a pacifist philosophy would be impressive. For a troll it was a polite nod, a quaint little gesture that might be akin to a drunkard turning down drink for a month.

Draal plowed into him, interrupting his thoughts, and Aaarrrgghh was immediately back in the game. He gripped the younger troll's arms and let the force of his impact roll, throwing him to the side. The ball that had been in his arms was flung away and Aaarrrgghh's teammate dove for it. Draal took to rolling, the peculiar talent unique to the spiky troll that Aaarrrgghh was never sure of it being terrifying or a little humorous. Aaarrrgghh took to upper levels, galloping along them and dropping down just behind Draal.

He could injure him from here. There were four places he could strike the troll to make the game painful, slow him down. Aaarrrgghh avoided these, instead grabbing one of Draal's horns to slow him. Draal bellowed and the shriek of his spikes against the stone was awful. Aaarrrgghh's teammate threw him the ball before being knocked aside by Draal's, and with a leap Aaarrrgghh pelted the ball into their goal. A deep chime rang out and Aaarrrgghh relaxed. Vendel loomed above them, gray eyes fixed on the arena.

"Five minutes before the final round. Tend your injuries – you've all been playing marvelously! Let us finish the game well after your rest." The crowd cheered in approval and Aaarrrgghh ambled back toward the gate. Blinky waited within, fairly dancing with excitement. A bowl of molten metal was in his four hands.

"Aaarrrgghh, you are masterful at this game! I've never seen such a natural talent!" Aaarrrgghh smiled then winced – a collision with Draal had gouged a good wound in his side. Blinky scurried forward and Aaarrrgghh lifted his arm, grimacing when the liquid fell against his side, sizzling and steaming hot. As it cooled it brought relief, sealing the wound. "It does one's heart good to see Draal get knocked down a peg. He's a bit of a braggart when it comes to his athleticism." Blinky helped smooth the metal and Aaarrrgghh looked across the room. Draal was not injured and Aaarrrgghh was relieved.

Aaarrrgghh did not want to tell Blinky that the reason he was so good at PyroBligst was because, as a Gumm-Gumm, they too had played games. Not PyroBligst, but "games" of war and blood and training. The losers would die, often losing their heads. Those that could bring the most dismembered limbs to the Black would be rewarded with power, privilege, and glory. And keeping their own heads.

PyroBligst, for all its "death is not against the rules" nonsense, was not meant to end in a player's death. Everything amongst the Gumm-Gumms was practice for survival, for further conquest, and above all, the glory of Gunmar. You lived for him, you played for him, you ate for him, you slept for him. And last of all, you died for him. A game being for fun was still…foreign. Even after two hundred years.

"Son." Aaarrrgghh's ears perked and several trolls murmured; Kanjigar was here. The Trollhunter strode with dignity, wearing his armor and glittering with the uneasy power of Daylight. Draal's jaw hung down before he shut his mouth. "You're playing well."

"Father! I didn't realize you were in the stands. Your mission…"

Kanjigar glanced to the side. "I managed to settle the matter quickly. I heard you were playing, and…I wanted to come cheer you on."

Draal's unfriendly face broke into a grin. "I'm sure to win with you here."

"Just be careful and do your best." Kanjigar hesitated before putting a hand on his son's shoulder. Aaarrrgghh wondered at the awkwardness of it. The Trollhunter was distant to everyone, even his son, and the krubera felt as though he were intruding on something private. "Have fun."

Draal's eyes were bright and Aaarrrgghh knew that gleam. Fun was the last thing on his mind. Glory gleamed, and a desire for admiration and pride was almost as golden. Blinky had finished applying the metal and the tone rang out again. "Last round Aaarrrgghh! You've made me proud my friend! Let's finish this!"

Aaarrrgghh galloped back out into the arena and the battle waged again. Draal had new fervor, new energy, and now the shining of his father's armor winked from the crowd. Aaarrrgghh adjusted in turn, never letting the fury of his past rise to the top. But it was so strange to play against someone with that familiar look in their eye. It wasn't desperate – not quite – but it longed for victory in a whole other way.

Draal had the ball. He came charging in and he was easily a match for any of Gunmar's lieutenants in ferocity and majesty. Aaarrrgghh glanced at his side. He could stop him with a slide and a hard blow to his unprotected core It would knock the breath from him, possibly breaking the stone. Aaarrrgghh could steal the ball and blast past Draal's teammate.

Aaarrrgghh paused just an extra moment more and missed Draal as he dove. The troll grinned with triumph and leaped, sinking the last goal of the game to the delight of the crowd. The krubera smiled as Draal pumped his fists in the air, soaking in the adulation. Kanjigar clapped hard from the stands, audible over all others.

Blinky was waiting, looking a little disappointed. "You did very well Aaarrrgghh. I would have liked to see Draal get a little humility, but…well, did you have fun?"

"Yes. Fun game. Draal good at it." Aaarrrgghh turned to his sore, bedraggled teammate. "Sorry I missed."

The other shrugged. "Whatever."

Aaarrrgghh felt bad for his own teammate, but the sight of Draal running to talk to his father again was a nice one. He'd never had the opportunity to throw a game before this, and…it was actually not a bad feeling. To be able to play for fun, not for the glory.

Blinky shook himself and smiled again. "Let's go celebrate a game well-played, shall we? I think the pub is nearly finished, and Egelum makes a grand plate of salty niblets." Aaarrrgghh grinned and followed his friend away from the cheers and noise.

End of Prompt One


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt 2

Eclipse

(Reference is made to Shakespeare's 35th Sonnet. I do not have any ownership of such a thing, obviously. Early Season 2 timeline.)

* * *

Jim had to be alive. He had to be. Claire checked her phone again, feeling fruitless.

He'd been concerned for Enrique first. Her baby brother had been the most important thing. He put himself in danger to save a baby. Did a person get anymore stereotypically heroic than that? Enrique had cackled with excitement upon seeing his room, his crib, his toys. He'd cried when he saw Mama and Papa. They had been alarmed, worried he might have a case of colic, but Claire knew better.

At only a few months old, Enrique had discovered how to be so happy he could cry.

Claire checked her phone again. Blinky had said he would text her and Toby when he got the ingredients together for the cure for Creeper's Sun. They would save Aaarrrgghh and then they would save Jim. They would.

"Well Claire, I hope you're looking up iambic pentameter on your phone." Ms. Janeth's voice started her, making her look up and flip her phone over immediately. The woman's expression was disappointed. Her eyebrows practically said, "This isn't like you at all Miss Perfect Grades and Behavior and Acting."

Claire's face warmed. "Would you be willing to read aloud the next portion of the sonnets?" Why did teachers ask if one would be willing? It didn't matter if you were willing or not, you were just to do it. Nerves made Claire fretful, rebellious. She nodded politely and looked at the page. "Number thirty-five."

"'No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,'" Claire began, "'roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud.'"

Was there food or water in the Darklands? Probably little suitable for a human. Toby kept tossing in candy bars, but could they get supply bags together? Maybe first aid kits to throw through, bottled water? There was nothing that could grow so there could be no crops, and if there was water where would it come from? Everything about that place sounded polluted.

"'Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, and loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.'"

Eclipse. The armor wasn't at all like Daylight. Instead of brilliant and bright, it was dark and shone with a bloody color, scarlet as embers. She hadn't expected something so…evil-looking. Perhaps it was just a matter of utility.

"'All men make faults, and even I in this-'"

_Why had Jim done something so stupid? _

The thought was so dark and brutal and angry that Claire stopped speaking. It had cut off any other brighter thoughts she could have had, all sunlight was filtered through this angry shard. She had no right to think that way, she scolded herself. He had gone in to rescue her brother, that was why-

_Why did he go in alone?_

He had been afraid others would be hurt. He was the Trollhunter, he felt like it was his job to protect them. Claire might have laughed if she wasn't arguing with herself.

_Why didn't he ask us what we thought?_

He wanted to shoulder all the risk. He wanted to take the penalty if things went wrong. There was no way he would let them get hurt, so he couldn't let them go in-

_That wasn't his right. It wasn't his choice to make._

"Claire?" Ms. Janeth's voice was still sharp but not so hard. Claire inhaled a hard breath, realizing everyone was looking at her expectantly.

_He had no authority to go in alone. Not when he promised it was Trollhunters, not Trollhunter. He was brave, kind, and caring. He was also pigheaded, reckless, and _stupid_._

She rubbed a hand across her cheek. Tears were rolling and she hastily forced her emotions into a tiny little ball, manageable and easily ignored. It stuck somewhere in her throat and she coughed. "I'm sorry, um…can I use the restroom?"

Ms. Janeth nodded. "Class, study Sonnet thirty-four. I'll be back in a minute." She accompanied Claire into the hall. Claire heard the door click shut and flushed with humiliation. "Claire? Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry Ms. Janeth. I was checking my phone for news about Jim. We're…hoping for good news." It wasn't technically a lie, she told her squeamish conscience.

"That's right, his illness." Ms. Janeth rubbed her arm absently. "I suppose I understand that."

"I'm not trying to excuse it," Claire said quickly. "It's just hard not knowing."

"Of course. I should've considered that. I was rather hard on him with the play going on, and all the pressure. If he had symptoms of some illness, it makes sense that he would miss school and rehearsal. He did very well though." Ms. Janeth sighed. "Why don't you go to the nurse's office? I'll call her and let her know you could use a few minutes. And keep us all posted about Jim, won't you?"

"I will Ms. Janeth. Thank you." Claire couldn't tell her the truth, not truly. But it felt good to hear a teacher admit to being too hard on Jim, even if the reason wasn't correct. She tried to give Ms. Janeth a smile before she walked the hall toward the front of the building.

The smiles and polite laughter and obedience…so much of it was fake. The truth was a glowing, molten ferocity, she couldn't keep it hidden forever. The perfect student façade was cracking. The moon couldn't block the sun forever.

Her phone buzzed. Claire took it out and scanned the message – the mixture would be ready with the addition of a few more ingredients. They needed to get to Heartstone Trollmarket as soon as possible. Knowing Toby he would already have gotten out of the building. Claire steeled herself and passed up the nurses office and headed right out the main entrance.

They were going to get Jim back. Her Shadowstaff burned at her side with her determined anger, and Claire imagined it boiling through her daytime persona to reveal someone strong enough to enter a dark place and save the boy she was simultaneously so very angry at and desperately needed to see safe.

End of Prompt Two


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt 3

Awesomesauce

(Pre-Series)

* * *

"It needs something." Mom turned the pan a little, trying to move the less-burnt part of the chicken to the fire. "I just want to make sure it's cooked all the way through."

Jim licked his lips, chewing on a reply. "I think it's cooked Mom. Maybe we should turn down the heat?" Mom shut the heat off, red hair starting to frizz a little from the stress and warmth in the kitchen.

"I guess you're right. I'll try a bite to make sure." She cut off a little bit and speared it with a fork, taking a bite and chewing. Her face was hard to read. "It's kind of bitter…what do you think hon?" Jim screwed his courage up and took the bite she offered.

Each chew was tough and dry and made his mouth protest. He held his face still. "I think it's…good. But it could use a sauce." Mom's expression lightened.

"That's a great idea. That might help it." She hurried to the pantry, scanning the shelves. Jim slipped around the stove and caught Nana Domzalski's and Toby's eyes.

Toby caught his gaze and mouthed, "How is it this time?" Jim made sure his mother wasn't looking and mimed sticking a finger down his throat. Toby winced and Nana Domzalski shrugged – her sense of taste wasn't as strong as it used to be. Jim respected and loved his mother. She was intelligent, giving, funny, and loving. She was also the worst cook to ever live. At ten years old he was convinced of that.

"Mom, can I try to make a sauce?" he asked. She was looking into the pantry and at his request she paused. "I've been watching a bunch of cooking shows all week!"

"Oh. Well, sure kiddo. I'll get some ingredients down. Just don't add too much hot sauce or pepper." She brought down several jars and containers, setting them on the counter in front of him. "You want me to help?"

Jim couldn't help but be a little excited. To create a sauce strong enough to "appreciate" the uniqueness of his mother's cooking was a challenge. She'd wanted so badly to have the Domzalskis over for dinner. The least he could do would be try to make the food tolerable. "I want to try on my own first. Is that okay?"

"Of course honey. I'll wait with our guests. If you need me, just let me know." Mom gave him a kiss on the head and headed into the dining room. Jim sighed with relief.

"Okay. Let's see what we can do." He took another bite of chicken, trying to identify the flavors that needed muting. He had to spit it into the garbage. "So it's bitter and burnt and dry. Let me think." He inspected the ingredients on the table. "Something sweet and pretty strong…"

Mom always tried so hard to make good dinners. Jim had eaten the food she lovingly prepared for years and didn't intend to ever, ever, _ever_ tell her how bad the food was. But last month, for his birthday, she had taken him to Wu Kebini, a Chinese restaurant. A _nice_ restaurant, one that grown ups had to make reservations for. She'd picked out his Easter suit for him to wear and it had been a very grown-up affair. He thought it was owned by the aunt of one of the girls in his class – Mary Wang maybe? – and Mom let him pick out an adult dish.

He'd never tasted chicken like that. It had been juicy and savory, full of flavors that layered on top of the others. The sauce and spices melted together and he'd realized how amazing food could be. He'd had good food before; he liked pizza and chicken nuggets and normal stuff. But somebody really amazing had been cooking in that kitchen.

Jim nursed that experience, remembering Mom's face when she took a bite of her dinner. It had been relieved, relishing. Dad used to do a lot of the cooking he remembered. He had been pretty good too.

Jim wanted to be better. He wanted to be a better cook than Dad had ever been, make food so good Mom would forget all about the shrimp cakes Dad used to make for her birthday. He wanted to make food so amazing people could forget about whatever was bothering them and just enjoy it.

He shook his head slightly. Honey, garlic, salt…slowly he took each item into his hands and poured them into a mixing bowl. A little olive oil for…oh what was the word…"viscosity," that was it. It made the sauce flow a little more. Not too much though. A little lemon juice maybe, soy sauce too.

Jim mixed it carefully and tasted it. Way too sweet. He washed off the spoon and added more soy sauce, a pinch more garlic. No more salt, it would be too much since soy sauce was already salty. He sampled it again. Much better, though it would be better hot. "Mom? I want to use the stove to warm up the sauce. Can you help me?"

She came back in, sniffing. "Mm, that does smell good. Reminds me of Wu Kebini's chicken sauce." Jim's heart swelled with pride. To even be mentioned in the same sentence as that place was a huge ego boost. Mom helped him pour the sauce into a small pan and he turned on the stove. "It has to be low," he explained, "because it'll get a skin on top and burn if it gets too hot too fast."

"Whatever you say Chef Jim." She was teasing but he liked the title. It didn't take long for the sauce to simmer, tiny bubbles rising sluggishly to the top. They turned off the heat, transferred the sauce to a fancy bowl, and they returned to the dining room and Mom served the chicken.

Nana Domzalski and Toby took the taste of the chicken like champs. Jim drizzled the sauce over his portion but couldn't quite be the first to taste it. What if it didn't cover up the bad taste? What if it made it even worse? What would he do? Just eat the chicken he supposed. Love made most things palatable. But Nana Domzalski and Toby were another matter, they shouldn't have to put up with the unique flavor.

Toby added sauce to his and took a bite. His brows shot up. "This…this sauce is great!"

"It is really good!" Mom ruffled Jim's hair and his nerves melted into pure pleasure. They liked it. They liked the sauce. "It makes the chicken so much better. You really are 'Chef Jim.'"

Nana Domzalski agreed, taking little bites to avoid straining her dentures. "It's very nice. Thank you both for fixing dinner. Save a little room for pie though, I brought enough for everyone."

Toby made sure Mom wasn't looking when he added a little more sauce. He grinned gratefully at Jim. "Thanks a million man," he whispered. " I mean it, this is some awesome sauce." He paused. "Huh…I kinda like the sound of that."

Jim thought it sounded a little goofy, but if Toby liked it, it was cool with him. He took another bite, musing on how the sauce could be better. Maybe butter and cardamom next time…

End of Prompt Three


	4. Chapter 4

Prompt Four

Keep it Crispy

(Mid Season One)

* * *

Claire played with a stray thread on her boots, staring at Toby and Jim. People found it harder to lie when you stared right at them. Especially if they were sitting in your room, in front of your window, talking in undertone so they didn't wake up your parents and meet an angry Papa Nuñez. She had often amusedly toyed with idea of what would happen if she ever had a boy in her room at night. This had not been the circumstances she could ever have guessed. "So you've explained about Changelings and Trolls and the house party thing – which wasn't a house party at all but NotEnrique being a complete heel – but there's something I'm still wondering about."

"If it's about the horseshoes, that was also related to the changeling thing." Toby looked up. "Your room is really nice. Very artsy."

"Not that. And thanks I suppose." Toby was nice enough but he had the weird habit of just _saying_ stuff. Claire pointed at Jim. "What was the deal with you acting crazy a couple weeks back? You were acting totally weird, and you kept saying 'keep it crispy' or something." Jim's face went a brilliant, incredible red. "Not to mention grabbing the intercom and playing bass…badly."

"I – I what?" Jim turned to Toby. "You didn't tell me I did that!"

"Well what was I supposed to say? 'Hey Jimbo, you did about sixteen humiliating things while you were on that no-fear high, want me to list them for you?'" Toby's face grimaced with the memories. "Let's see, you also ate chicken surprise-"

Claire's stomach shrank in revulsion and Jim buried his face in his hands. "What else?"

"Uh, you barged into Ms. Janeth's math class and solved a problem. Incorrectly by the way. And it wasn't your class."

Jim groaned.

"And then there was the intercom thing-"

Claire put up a hand. "I'm not asking for a recap, I just want to know why. Why were you acting like a crazy person?"

Jim rested his elbows on his knees, face still pink. "I was using a courage totem. It was a magic artifact, technically a Gumm-Gumm one, that banishes fear. I was nervous about something and a troll friend recommended trying it. Unfortunately he didn't mention that it also got rid of all my inhibitions and made me act nuts."

Claire blinked. "Oh. So it was like being magically drunk or something?"

"That's what I said!" Toby peered out the window. "Was that a goblin or – oh, no, it's just a mangy cat."

"I'm really sorry for anything I said or did while I was using that thing. It's not how I normally act." Jim seemed to care a lot that she not think him a jerk. Claire tilted her head.

"So…what made you that nervous?" His expression was blank, uncomprehending. "I assume you don't use courage totems all the time, though I couldn't blame you if you fight monsters and trolls. Something must have really freaked you out to use something like that."

Jim, if possible, looked even more embarrassed. Toby glanced out the window. "Woo, look at the time, I think we ought to be going."

Claire crossed her arms. "No, I want to know. What was so scary? If there are trolls close enough to the school to be a threat, it's important I'm prepared."

"It was, um…nothing like that." Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "This is going to sound super stupid, but I was kind of nervous about the play." Claire stared. "About…erm, about the kiss part."

Silence fell for a moment as Claire digested this. Toby opened the window. "You know, I'm just gonna go." They had put up a ladder to get into her room – she had questions and school was way too public to talk for a long period of time – and Toby scuttled out the window, and shimmied down the ladder, jogging toward the sidewalk. "See you tomorrow," he hissed. Then he was gone.

They both looked out the window after him. "He always like that?" Claire asked.

"Toby's one of a kind." This was said with affection, if a little exasperation.

Claire turned her head to look at Jim instead. He met her eye sheepishly. "So you were nervous about the stage kiss? We could have done a fake one if you wanted, there are all kinds of tricks. If you didn't want to kiss me-"

"No!" He shut his mouth immediately, both of them instantly alert for the sound of her parents after his outburst. Several seconds of silence relaxed them and he cleared his throat. "No, it wasn't that. I just…y'know, I haven't…done much…kissing. In theatre," he added hastily. Claire raised one eyebrow. "Okay, I haven't done any. Kissing I mean."

"In theatre or…?"

"At all." He tugged at his sleeve nervously. "And you…well you're so good at theatre. And I was worried I'd be awful at it. Kissing _and _theatre."

Why would that matter? If it looked okay for the scene was the only reason it would matter. Claire studied him, absorbing the embarrassment, thinking back to the stage kiss during the performance. When she thought of that, and the fact that he was willing to put himself out to help her, and how he was always trying to initiate conversation-

It clicked. Claire hoped it was too dark for him to see her face. "I see. Well, theatre can be pretty intimidating."

He seemed relieved. Good grief it was easy to read him. "Yeah. Not that kissing you was bad! It was nice – y'know, for theatre kissing." He tugged at his collar. "Wow it's warm in here."

The air conditioner was going and if Claire knew one thing, it was the heat of scrutiny, of eyes on a person. "Yeah. Well…I think that's all of my questions. You should probably get home in case your mom checks in on you."

"Good thinking." Jim climbed out the window, surprisingly agile. "We can talk on Monday about you seeing the market. I think I can convince Blinky if I just keep on him. But remember, you can't tell anyone."

"Keep the secret civilization of magical trolls and powers secret. Got it." She held onto the ladder as he started climbing down. "Hey Jim?"

"Yeah?" He looked back up at her, as if afraid she was going to ask him more embarrassing questions. Claire bit her lip.

"You…you really do think we can get my little brother back, right?"

The embarrassment immediately faded, replaced by something stronger and stern. "It's number one on my list. We'll figure something out Claire. We'll bring Enrique home, I promise."

She believed him. Claire managed a smile. "Thanks Jim. Keep it crispy?"

He winced but nodded. "Keep it crispy. I'm never going to live that down."

"Nope. Probably not." She watched him pull down the ladder and stow it in the shed before taking off, disappearing in the silent flash of bike wheels. In the silence of her room it was harder not to think of Enrique in some dark, cold place, crying from hunger and fear. Claire tucked her arms close to herself, crawling into bed and staring at the ceiling.

Toby and Jim were goofy and awkward, but their presence had distracted her. And they'd sworn up and down that Enrique was safe, that nothing would happen to him. But she saw him in the dark and fearful night when she closed her eyes.

Keep it together, she told herself. You won't be able to help him if you lose your head. Keep it crispy.

The sentiment was dumb and goofy, but her mouth curved in a smile. "Keep it crispy," she whispered one more time.

End of Prompt Four


	5. Chapter 5

Prompt 5

Wingmen

* * *

Aaarrrgghh didn't know much about romance, but he could recognize the look in Toby's eye as he messed with his phone. He was lying on his stomach on his bed, feet in the air, expression dreamy as he texted. Aaarrrgghh continued playing Go Go Sushi, chuckling when he got an achievement for a triple-golden roll.

"Ohhh man. Dude. Can you pause that? I need some Wingman advice." Aaarrrgghh obeyed, turning to look at Toby. His brows were creased. "What do I say in response to something like this!?" He showed Aaarrrgghh the screen.

It said, "Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow," from Toby. Then, "Same here. I'm always glad to see you." Then there was a little symbol of a red heart.

Aaarrrgghh mused for a moment. "This from Darci?" Toby nodded. "This good thing, right? She like Wingman, Wingman like her."

"Yeah, but it's not that simple! She put a little heart, not 'love you' or 'laugh out loud.' It's hard to know how to react. Does that mean the same thing as 'I love you' but casual? Or is it just kind an affectionate thing?" Toby put his phone down. "What do you think?"

Aaarrrgghh scratched his furry head slowly. "If heart is confusing, just think about words? She say she always happy to see Wingman. That kind thing to say. Means she likes Wingman."

"Yeah. I guess so." Toby rolled onto his side and reached out, putting a hand on Aaarrrgghh's forearm. "Can I tell you something buddy? Something that doesn't really make sense?" The troll nodded, settling beside his friend's bed, head resting on his other arm. "I really like Darci. A lot. But as much as it may stun you to hear this, I've never been very good at interacting with ladies. I've never even had a girlfriend. I don't know all the normal boyfriend stuff to do. Should I try to be super confident and suave? Or should I just let her take the lead? It's just hard." He shifted uneasily. "I don't want to do or say something that might weird her out or make her uncomfortable. And I don't have a lot of people to talk to about dating. Jim and Claire are together which is cool, but neither of them have dated a lot."

Aaarrrgghh tilted his head as Toby sighed heavily. "Not to mention it would be kind of embarrassing to ask them. Nana…she always tells me to be myself, to be polite, and just be kind. I wish I had someone to ask about this kind of stuff is all."

Aaarrrgghh reached out and patted Toby's hair. "Aaarrrgghh not expert on girls or dating. But have been paying attention, so Aaarrrgghh have thoughts. Can share with Wingman." Toby sat up and nodded. "Nana advice good. If lady does not like Wingman for who he is, she and Wingman not good fit. Darci seems to like Wingman as he is."

He felt so stupid trying to explain himself. Aaarrrgghh had often felt less erudite than Blinky, but his friends never looked at him as if he was anything other than a beloved, trusted friend. It didn't stop him from feeling foolish as he grasped at his explanation. "Wingman is funny and nice and kind and brave and loyal. Lots of good things. Should not think he is not good catch. Many not date much and find love. Less heartbreak in long run?"

Toby was still watching him, chewing his lip in thought. "Be honest," Aaarrrgghh continued insistently. "Do not need to be flowery or weepy or anything. Just tell Darci you like her very much. Okay that you haven't dated."

Toby moved around so he was leaning against Aaarrrgghh and showed him the screen, thumbs moving so fast it amazed Aaarrrgghh. "What do you think? 'I'm really glad to hear that. I really like you Darci, and I'm always really glad when we get to spend time together.'"

Aaarrrgghh nodded. "Think that honest, nice, and not too mushy. But Aaarrrgghh is not expert."

His friend nudged Aaarrrgghh amusedly. "You're a great Wingman is what you are. In adventures and relationship stuff. Don't sell yourself short either bud."

"Not very good with words," Aaarrrgghh explained. Toby waved a hand.

"Words are only important in how you use them. And you use them to help and heal. They don't have to be super flowery, right?" Aaarrrgghh grinned – Toby had gotten him. "You're the best Aaarrrgghh." Toby hugged his friend's head and Aaarrrgghh sighed, nuzzling the human. "If you ever find a lady friend and need relationship advice, feel free to come to me. I'm not gonna promise it'll go well though."

He chuckled. "Will do Wingman. Will do."

End of Prompt Five


	6. Chapter 6

Prompt Six

Best Friends

(Pre-Series)

* * *

There was something vaguely spidery about his neighbor. Toby didn't mind that, he kind of liked spiders. Especially tarantulas, they were basically big enough to be held like puppies. Toby's dad used to pick up spiders and take them outside to a safe place. They were important for getting rid of bad bugs, he used to say.

The boy had thin arms and legs and a twiggy body. He had big blue eyes and dark hair and his face always looked pinched and serious. Today more than any other day. It seemed a little odd really - he'd just turned five last week and gotten a bike kit for his birthday. Some people just weren't smilers he supposed.

Toby looked around, a little intimidated by all the strangers. New kids, men and women and students, so many smells and faces bombarded him. He was what Nana called, "sensitive." He tended to pick up on things others might miss. And there were a lot of new people on his first day at his new preschool.

The spider boy sat alone on the bench. After a long wait - twenty minutes felt long anyway, and almost everyone else had been picked up - Toby's Nana had arrived at the school to take him home, though how long that would last was anyone's guess. She couldn't see very well and he'd probably have to get home some other way soon if her eyes got any worse. The bus didn't go as far as her house, and kindergarteners had to have a grownup come get them if they didn't ride the bus.

Mom used to pick him up from school. They would go to the park and he'd play on the swings while she read and - sometimes – she snuck up behind him and pushed him higher on the swing until he squealed.

"Nana, can we wait a few minutes?" She paused as she reached for the key. "That boy's our neighbor, right?" He pointed at the figure on the bench.

"Oh, yes. I think his name is...Tim? No, Jim, after his father. That's right. Did you want to talk to him about something?" Nana was always nice, even if she smelled a little funny. Like creaky aged house and medicinal ointment and pie. She didn't smell like Mom with her flowery shampoo, or Dad with his Old Spice. Toby missed those smells.

"Why hasn't his mom picked him up? She lives right by us." Nana squinted at this statement.

"Maybe she's running late. She's studying to be a doctor, I know that takes a lot of work. She might be on rotations." Toby didn't know what that meant exactly, but sometimes Dad had gotten caught up in meetings and got home a little late for dinner. Maybe it was the same thing?

"Where's his dad?"

"I don't know Toby Pie. I haven't seen him in a few days. Maybe he's on a business trip." She paused and opened her purse. "I just remembered, I brought some candy for you. You like those Nougat Nummy bars, don't you? I got you one all for yourself, as a special treat!"

Toby swallowed. He used to share Nougat Nummies with his mom and dad. They would break them into three pieces and each get one. Sometimes he had wondered at the idea of ever eating a whole candy bar himself. He didn't begrudge the little piece at all, but a whole candy bar just sounded like an embarrassment of riches. As she handed it to him with love and kindness, he stared down at it and wondered if maybe that was the price he had to pay for finding out. His parents for a candy bar?

No. This was just Nana giving him a present, hoping to make him feel better about...everything really. It probably wouldn't be a common thing.

He looked up through the windshield. The boy was still sitting there on the bench but now a teacher had come to sit by him. Tony looked to his Nana. "Can we see if he's okay?"

She smiled and looked a little like his Dad. His eyes crinkled up the same way. "All right sweetie. If you'd like to." He opened the door and hopped out, looking both ways before taking her hand and crossing the parking lot. All of the other kids were gone now.

"...Mother is going to be a little late. Someone came into the hospital that needed help very badly." The teacher was speaking quietly, nicely, and Jim nodded at his shoes.

"...My dad can't come get me." It wasn't a question.

The teacher shifted. "I...no dear, I don't think so." Toby frowned as they approached.

"He still hasn't come back, has he?" Jim rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "He's been gone all week."

Toby thought that poor parenting, even as a five-year-old. The teacher's face was so sad, anger crusting under her cheeks and in her jaw in a way that made Toby think Jim's dad was never coming back. "We can wait inside dear." She looked up and seemed surprised. "Oh, Ms. Domzalski. Hello, I didn't see you there."

Jim looked up at her and then at Toby. "Hi," Toby said. Jim nodded a little. "Your Mom is going to be late?"

"Yeah. She can't always leave work. She's learning to be a doctor." Jim fiddled with his backpack straps. "I like your shirt."

Toby smiled. "Yeah, Gun Robot is cool. Nana won't let me watch it alone though, she thinks they have bad words. She mutes them." Jim smiled a little.

"Mom only lets me watch the TV version. They take out the bad words. There's only like two."

Toby ignored the adult conversation. They were usually "how have you been" and "oh fine and you" and "this weather, it didn't used to get this cold this early" and a bunch of other boring stuff. He adjusted his backpack. "Is your dad gone too?"

Jim stiffened and the adults stopped talking. "Toby Pie," Nana said evenly, "you shouldn't ask personal questions like that when you don't know someone very well."

But Jim nodded. "Yeah. Mom hasn't said exactly, but I think he ran off."

Toby felt a kinship with him instantly. It was warm and it hurt in a way that felt better than just sitting around being sad. "My mom and dad are gone too. They were on a cruise and the ship sank. Everyone died, it was on the news. They're gonna make new laws about it."

The adults seemed so upset and embarrassed. Jim on the other hand observed him frankly. "I'm sorry. That's really sad. Are you okay?"

"Sometimes." Toby looked up at his Nana and the teacher. "Can he come home with us? We live across the street from him."

It took several minutes of "I don't knows" and "we can't let kids go home with people without approval," and a call to the hospital where Jim's mom worked. Then Nana and Jim's mom had a whole long grownup talk about "oh thank you" and "it's no trouble at all" and "I'll be home in forty minutes, Jim behave for Mrs. Domzalski." They knew each other well enough - Nana had lived there for years, before Jim was ever born - and with the closing of a car door and a grumble of the engine they were on their way. Toby sat in the back seat with Jim.

Silence reigned save for the old radio songs that Nana liked. Jim kept looking down and Toby glanced at him several times. "Do you like Nougat Nummies?" He asked suddenly. Jim looked up at him, face blank.

"Yeah." It was quiet again and Toby saw Nana adjust her mirror to check on them. "Do you like Vespas?" Jim asked.

"The scooter things that are kinda like motorcycles? Yeah. They're cool." Jim smiled at this response and Toby felt that hurt again, the kind that felt like it made things seem a little less hollow and cold. "I don't know if you know, but I'm Toby. I'm new around here. You wanna be best friends?"

Jim looked thoughtful, as if giving the idea weighted consideration. "Are you supposed to just ask somebody like that?"

"I don't know. Why not?"

Jim studied him with bright blue eyes, and Toby felt something permanent form, solid in his core. "Okay."

"Cool." Toby remembered the Nougat Nummy and took it out. "I would've shared this with you even if you said no, but here." He broke off a piece of the chocolate bar and handed it to Jim. He took another chunk and passed it toward the front. "Here Nana, you have some too."

Nana accepted the candy and her smile was warm and funny and bright. "Thank you Toby Pie. That's very sweet of you."

Toby shrugged and Jim thanked him quietly, barely more than a murmur. But there was something a little happier in his eyes now, and Toby sank his teeth into his chunk of chocolate. It was much better than having a whole bar to oneself.

End of Prompt Six


	7. Chapter 7

I will place a warning right here and state that there is violence – maybe character death? I don't even know really – without extreme blood or gore. Dark fic in a sense.

Prompt Seven

Darkness

(Troll Jim)

* * *

Toby had never wrestled with hate. Dislike, sure. Disgust, hey, everyone had their turnoffs. But hate? The only time he really remembered feeling hate in a personal level was when Angor Rot stabbed Aaarrrgghh. An assassin trying to kill him and instead piercing the person jumping in front of the blade to protect him seemed like a fairly hatable person.

He'd come close since then - hello Usurna, you lying, traitorous nut - but he'd never quite tipped over into hate territory again. It wasn't in his nature he supposed. Gunmar had been pure terror, Morganna an awed horror.

Hate was the furthest thing from his mind when he spotted Jim creeping from the underbrush. His friend's face lit up, even though as a troll it looked a little more like a grimace than a Jim Lake smile, and Toby hurled himself at his friend. "Dude! It's so good to see your face."

"Same here Tobes. I missed you." Jim's clothes were grubby and dirty, and they didn't exactly fit. The arms were too short and the jeans a little long with holes in the knees and the hems frayed. Toby swore to himself he'd get his friend's measurements and get him some real, decent clothes. Claire had probably worried after everything like that for months – she was probably in the same boat. Toby loved Blinky and the other trolls, but they just didn't understand some human needs. He'd have to get supplies together while Jim was in town for both he and Claire. "I think you've gotten taller," Jim continued.

"A whole inch. I'll catch up with you eventually." Jim laughed, although it wasn't the happy laugh of someone really amused. It was more desperate, as if jokes were infrequent, a luxury. Toby didn't like the thought one bit. The amulet was in Jim's hand, bright and humming faintly. He probably had to be ready to don the armor a lot when leading the trolls, Toby supposed. The brush rustled behind Jim and Toby peered around him to see Merlin stepping through. His excitement dimmed. "Oh. I thought you were the only one coming. Since Blink and Claire are still working on the market…"

"That was the plan." Jim's tone was carefully even. "Merlin thought I needed possible backup." Toby thought he sensed an unsaid "supervision" in there and he took a deep breath. "Now that we've got the gyre going, I thought it would be okay to visit."

Merlin made a noise of disagreement. "Right now is when the market is at its most vulnerable. But sure, let's just drop everything to come visit Mummy and friends."

Toby's blood heated. "If you're so worried why not just stay and protect the market? Y'know, with all your magic." Jim squeezed his shoulder, though Toby couldn't tell if it was a gesture of alarm or gratitude.

"The trolls look to their Trollhunter." Merlin looked down the ridge into the town, unaffected by the warm golden lights and promise of home. "The changeling also said there were potentially dangerous artifacts in the ruins of the Janus Order. It would be wise for me to look them over and make sure they can't do any harm."

Toby tried to push back that insidious heat boiling in his chest. Merlin was just cantankerous, he told himself. He had some good points and could help out. Jim too looked out over the town and the lights reflected in his eyes. Relief crossed his face. "It looks the same."

"Well, Wingman and I are working with the Creepslayerz to keep things nice and tidy. Your mom has patched us up a few times, and _Strickler's_ really helping out with the familiars, so we've all kept busy." Toby saw his friend's face brighten even more at the mention of the others. "Aaarrrgghh wanted to be here but Eli and Steve were looking into something and he went with. Just to be safe, you know?"

"It's so good to be back." Jim squinted. "I think I can see my house. People are okay with trolls, right? It won't scare anyone if I'm on the road or anything?"

"Naw man, trolls are basically just bigger, rockier citizens. Some businesses are even expanding their doors so they can get in easier! Precious stones are pretty cool currency y'know." Toby took Jim's hand. "C'mon, let's go show your mom you're home. She'll be really glad to see you."

"Do you really think that's the best choice?" Merlin's voice was a crow's squawk in a symphony, a jarring pain. Toby bit his tongue because without Jim's good influence, he'd really started to pick up some words, but Jim turned instead, glaring at Merlin.

"We're going to Arcadia Oaks for a couple days. I haven't seen my mom in eight months. You can't keep me away forever."

The wizard's expression became long-suffering. As if this conversion had happened before. "You're really comfortable leaving the trolls alone that long? Your charges?" Toby hated that choice of words; if Merlin were really worried about the trolls, couldn't he have stayed behind? He was more "powerful" than Jim anyway, right? Claire had gotten to visit once already – a tearful, happy thing a couple months back – didn't Jim deserve to as well? That was probably why Claire had stayed, just so Jim could have a little visit.

Guilt flashed across Jim's face, but he mastered it. "It's two days! The trolls are safe underground and Nomura is watching them! Blinky and Claire are there too, they're safe! I'm going to visit home!"

"I'm really getting tired of this!" Merlin's voice rose and Toby saw a spark jolt from the amulet in Jim's hand and Jim jerked back, ears laying down like a slapped dog. "If we want to get a market set up, every second counts. As the Trollhunter, it's your responsibility to lead the trolls."

Wrong. It was the elder's, Trollhunter's, and probably the person with a butt-load of magic. A shared duty that allowed for rest and preparation. Toby knew the value of sharing the load after eight months of working with the Creepslayerz. Merlin shrugged. "Fine then, take a few days to enjoy a home the trolls don't have any longer. I'm sure it'll be very cozy at Mummy's house."

How dare he? Toby stared at the old man, trying to figure out exactly how cruel a person could be. "Nobody," Toby spat, "would think like that. The trolls know how to be selfless and grateful, and be happy for other people. Unlike some." He didn't look away from Merlin as he spoke. He was on Jim's side, his friend needed to know that. "If any one of them got a chance to visit their home, Jim would be there to cover for them in a heartbeat."

Merlin ignored him. He'd gotten into a habit of that, Toby thought. "James, it's your choice."

Don't call him that, Toby wanted to say. He's never liked being called that. And what kind of choice was that, Merlin all but called him a selfish baby-

Jim didn't retort, didn't reply, and his shoulders slumped. The fight went out of him. Toby's whole body seemed to buzz. The heat in his blood turned to ice. Jim stared at the ground. "...Fine. We'll go back tomorrow," Jim mumbled. The wizard seemed mollified, looking over the view of Arcadia, maddeningly superior. "But I still want to see my Mom."

Merlin turned sharply. "Don't you think that will make it harder to leave? You know how you are. You're always making everything difficult." As he moved the amulet sparked again and Jim flinched.

He flinched.

His best friend _flinched_.

Toby didn't remember grabbing Warhammer from his belt. He didn't remember the rush of wind as he charged, didn't remember his feet pounding over the grass.

All he remembered was hate. Hate and the feeling of Merlin's body connecting with Warhammer's head, the crack of bone and the thrum of metal armor striking metal and crystal, the weightlessness of a person being thrown ten feet before rolling and crumpling. The stillness of a person that might be unconscious or dead, he wasn't really sure. He didn't really care.

Toby stood in the darkness of the trees, panting fast with exertion, aware that Jim was gaping at him.

And for the second time in his life, Toby was aware of the darkness of a relentless, unapologetic flood of hate.

End of Prompt Seven


	8. Chapter 8

Prompt Eight

Late Night Study Session

(Season One)

* * *

"This account is erroneous. I am appalled." Blinky put down the text book in disgust. "Polyphemus was a jotnar, not a cyclops. He was missing an eye, I grant you, but-"

"Blinky." Jim lifted his head. "I know it's not right. I get it. But the teachers only know the human version, and if I fail this mythology test, my English grade is finished. Doomed. I need to know the human version. After this you can teach me the real one."

Blinky forced himself to calm down. Jim's eyes were shadowed and tired, shoulders hunched. "I suppose you're right. It's just a pity how much humans have forgotten." He set the book aside and picked up the index cards. "Very well, let us try these instead. I might feel better if it's just a question and answer round." Jim nodded, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Let's see…god of the sun?"

"Apollo. Uh, I think he was the same for both. Though Helios was also a thing…ugh." Jim planted his head against his arms on the table and Blinky nodded. "Next?"

"Goddess of love and beauty?"

"Aphrodite to the Greeks, Venus to the Romans."

"Correct. God of war?"

"Um…Mars for the Romans and…Eros for the Greeks…?"

"Very close name. Ares." Jim grimaced and Blinky put down the cards. "Jim, perhaps sleep would do you more good."

"Maybe you're right. It took longer to round up the gnomes than I expected, and I meant to study longer, but I think I'm out of time." Jim checked his phone. "It's freaking three in the morning." Blinky winced – humans, particularly children, needed more sleep than trolls. Not for the first time he felt the blasphemous urge to throw the Amulet of Daylight against a wall.

"Perhaps you should just sleep here. Your mother will be home soon; why don't you tell her you're staying at Tobias's for a study session?" Jim weighed the suggestion and pushed his books back, finally nodding. Blinky left his study and returned with blankets and a pillow. Jim was just putting down his phone. "Here, let's just set up a cozy little nook over here." Blinky put down the blankets and the pillow and Jim mumbled something akin to "thank you" before laying down. He was out in a minute flat and Blinky tucked the last blanket in around him.

After a moment Blinky looked over Jim's practice tests and sheets. Hum…not quite enough to scrape a C if his calculations were correct. The amount of plain memorization in schools seemed frankly ridiculous. The students might know a mythology character or two, but they surely wouldn't remember beyond the test the way things were. Blinky huffed and neatened the stack of pages. The curriculum was already busy enough, and with Trollhuntering and looking after everyone, this was getting to be too much to stand idly by and watch.

He spotted Jim's phone and a plan began brewing. No, surely it was too audacious. And yet…

Blinky took Jim's phone and punched in the security code – Claire's birthday, naturally – and scrolled through his contacts. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. "Jerkface Dating My Mother." Blinky tried not to chuckle. He hit the call button.

After two rings the call was picked up. "Young Atlas? It's the middle of the night." Strickler's voice was low, not quite threatening but not far either.

"I'm afraid Jim is indisposed at the moment. This is Blinky." He crossed one set of arms, letting the surprise set in. "You are the one administering the mythology test tomorrow, correct?"

"I…yes. It's a part of our Language Arts curriculum. What does that have to do with anything?" He heard Strickler stand up. He wasn't in bed, it was the sound of a chair. Plotting something devious most likely.

"Let me be frank. We don't like or trust each other, and you're enemy number one at this moment in time. That being said, I think you should move the test a day or two." He waited patiently as Strickler absorbed his words.

"You must be joking. You want me to make it easier for the Trollhunter to do his duty and balance his normal life as well? Why don't you ask me to please hand over the Inferna Copula while you're at it?"

"That would be lovely. But I am under the impression you care for Jim at least a little, and you definitely have feelings for his mother." Blinky stepped out of his study so Jim wouldn't hear him. "Your actions are pushing him to an outrageous level and I think if you have any shred of decency, you will move – this – test – back."

"Says the troll that pushed him to become the hunter in the first place!" Strickler shot back. But Blinky sensed that he'd touched a nerve.

"All right then, let's say he fails and his grades slip even further in _your _class. Barbara knows her son tries hard and studies, and for a student of his intelligence it seems that he ought to be able to pass at least. She asks you about it and if you claim Jim isn't studying enough, she'll know something is up because he frequently studies at home. And there's every chance the other teachers will communicate with her about his absences that I must assume you're covering for part of the time as I would think it is the principal's role to call about them? Anyone finding out he's missing frequently might investigate why, drawing scrutiny to his activities and those he interacts with. And Barbara would certainly take issue with you keeping those absences from her, wouldn't she? Enough to start poking around and asking inconvenient questions?"

Strickler was silent for a moment. "You would put Trollmarket at stake…for the sake of Jim's grades?"

Blinky had him. He smiled. "Your actions have consequences Strickler. Your web of lies is delicate when even one concerned adult is involved. The alternative is giving Jim a passing grade no matter what, but I don't think he would appreciate that from you. The best option is to give him an extra day to rest and study."

Strickler laughed. It was an unpleasant sound. "Blinky, bullying me into doing what you want? I didn't think you had it in you! You're very fond of Young Atlas indeed!"

Blinky stared at the phone, smile dropping. "Fonder than you, Stricklander. I would never dream of using his mother, whom I claimed to love, as a meat shield to save my own skin. How did you do it? Did you put a curse on her while she slept? Some sort of talisman in her food or drink? If you're willing to reduce yourself to such things, why not just be done with it and poison Jim to be done with it all? You have the talent. I know you're smart enough to have considered it. And you've cast that option out the door, obviously. You won't do with your own hands what another assassin is directed to."

There was no reply. Blinky gripped Jim's phone tighter, willing himself not to break it. "Unless you have some scrap of remorse or guilt about harming him personally, I can't imagine why you would do things this way. I'm just asking for one test to be pushed back. If not for Jim then for Barbara. You're causing enough danger for both of them. Someone will inevitably be hurt; this is the very least you could do." He hung up, breathing hard with anger.

The next day he received a relieved text from Jim. "Strickler's moving the test to this Friday! Miracles do happen. Can you quiz me tonight after training?"

Blinky's heart softened. "Absolutely."

End of Prompt Eight


	9. Chapter 9

Prompt Nine

Winter

(Pre-Series)

* * *

Strickler preferred the colder months to summer. It made working easier. The cold kept people indoors, the sun wasn't out as long, and even daytime was often muddled by heavy clouds.

Winter was ideal for a busy changeling. There were, however, exceptions. Snow was infrequent in Arcadia Oaks, so when it hit, there were two equally passionate, opposite reactions. Some acted as though the world was ending and hid away indoors like irritable animals. Others – namely children – were delighted and enchanted and had to go romp in the stuff.

Strickler forged his way through six inches of powdery ice, draped in a long coat and scarf. Shrieks of children wading into the mess were muffled and the wind in his ears stung and whipped. It was a pity this couldn't have taken place at night, he thought. He could have taken changeling form and avoided the bitterness of cold altogether in stone. But when Otto called, one had to be ready to move.

A new agent had been moved to the museum. He couldn't say he liked her – as if a changeling could like a fellow agent – but she was smart enough to keep her head low and put forth sensible ideas. Killahead Bridge would take years, maybe a decade, to build from this point on. Pieces and chunks were hidden away in the Janus Order, but once they had enough pieces they would move to the museum. It would be easier to organize Gunmar's forces above ground when it came time to bring him through. Shipments of "aged artifacts" to a museum were also less suspicious.

A small piece rested in the parcel under his arm. An agent had traveled to find it and unfortunately would not be coming back. On the other hand, this did mean Strickler got to bask in the glory of finding another piece and enjoy five seconds' favoritism. Even if there were still a few drops of blood on the package.

He was near enough the woods by the canal that started scanning for Bular. The trees were thick, impenetrable, and in the dim dark he could move silent and unseen. It would be pleasant to rub it in his face that Strickler had another piece, proving his value to Gunmar.

The sound of snow crunching and being flung made him stop. On the other side of the canal were a pair of boys, about six, wrapped up in puffy coats and knit hats and gloves. Their boots were a little too big and he could see little of their faces other than red noses and bright eyes. "Toldja we could sled here!" the shorter called. He dragged a makeshift sled behind him – it looked like the plastic lid to a toy bin – and the other boy had a garbage can lid. Strickler was almost amused. Sleds in warm, sunny California probably were hard to come by on short notice.

His stomach chilled, as if the winter wind had cut through his human clothing and flesh and nestled inside him. He had been around Bular too many times not to sense that presence, that insatiable hunger.

Children went missing sometimes in Arcadia Oaks. Adults did too, but it was much rarer. Strickler wasn't sentimental, but the last time Bular had eaten someone…

He would never confess to waking up in a cold sweat. Perhaps it was being a changeling that made the matter so uneasy. He spent time as a human, worried after human affairs. And Bular had eaten changelings before. Perhaps two more children would go missing today?

The two shedded down the canal side, shrieking with laughter. That hungry presence drew closer. Strickler stood very still, aware of breath against his back. "Can you lure them closer?" The voice was low, almost a purr.

"Two children at once? That seems too suspect." Strickler became aware of the faintest sun rays on the snow, dazzling bright. He was rarely thankful for the sun. Bular growled.

"Just the fat one then?"

Strickler watched the boys for another minute, heart pounding. "I sincerely doubt they'd be led away by a strange man. Don't you have plenty of prey in the forest?"

"Human flesh is sweeter. It has a certain…bouquet." Bular's breath felt across his back again. "Never mind. It seems they're attended after all." A young-ish woman – maybe early thirties – was trudging through the snow.

"You boys are too fast!" She puffed for air, breath bursting in clouds. Her long red hair was easily the brightest thing around, brighter than her cheeks or any clothing. "Okay, careful…once the snow starts melting there might be water down here. We can only sled for a while, so enjoy it."

"Mommy, sled with us!" The taller boy took her hand, pulling her toward the plastic bin lid. She balked before relenting, squeezing in behind the boys, the shorter one in the front and throwing his hands up in the air. His little grin was crooked and the woman pushed off, sending them careening down the side. The three laughed as they crashed into the cold, forgiving snow, rolling off at the end. The woman held both boys close, absorbing any impact.

Bular's breath was colder than anything. Not truly – Strickler supposed it was above freezing – but it left an animal mist on his back. "It's been so long since I had human…if you want me to keep hidden, get rid of them."

"You'd put the mission in danger for a meal?" Strickler hissed.

"That's why you need to get them out of here. Now." Bular's presence drifted back, further into the trees, and Strickler could breathe freely again.

They had gone down the canal side again and Strickler finally stepped out toward it, mind working quickly. He dropped his regular accent and instead adopted a vaguely southern one, one that had been much more common when he had traveled in Texas. To those outside the state it gave the air of harmless bumpkin, especially those living in a city. "Y'all might need to move to another hill," he called, injecting friendliness into his voice. The woman lifted her head and examined him. A single woman looking after children would be quite aware he supposed. "This canal might flood if the sun comes out, and I hear it's supposed to burn through the clouds today."

"Already?" She sighed. "I thought we had a little longer…sorry boys." Both of their faces dropped, and Strickler – in spite of himself – felt sorry for the trio.

They would thank him if they only knew. "You might be able to use the hills up by the pizza shop off fourth. The park around there has a few good ones."

The shorter boy lit up. "Oh, I bet the slide will have snow on it!"

"We can make snow piles and jump off the swings!" the other added. The woman shot a smile up at Strickler and he was struck by how vibrant she was, how sincere the smile, how true the hue of her hair and eyes. Then the spell was broken and the boys were pulling their "sleds" back up the canal.

"Thanks sir. That's a really good idea." Had his human form aged enough to be referred to as a "sir" now? Perhaps she was a military family's daughter and the term came naturally. Strickler wished they would go before Bular changed his mind.

"My pleasure miss. I hope y'all have fun. Stay warm now." He continued walking as soon as they were gone from the canal. Whatever else happened wasn't his concern. Winter was a busy time for changelings and he had to get the bridge piece to the museum.

But there was a kernel of relief in his chest that the cold couldn't quite extinguish. It was illogical considering he held a piece of the bridge that would one day bring death to millions. But the deaths wouldn't be today. Today there would be snow and sleds and cocoa and blankets.

Winter was here, but it was daytime yet.

End of Prompt Nine


	10. Chapter 10

Prompt Ten

Bookworm

(Season One)

* * *

"Are we sure helping RotGut get more Elixlore is a good idea? After last time I think the stuff needs an instruction label." Toby knelt and peered through the shelves. "You sure someone lives here?"

"Indeed. We've run this errand for Totem before. It's one reason they're willing to spot us for emergency items like Gaggletacks." Blinky lifted another book and blew away some dust. He sneezed several times and coughed. Jim shifted another stack and Aaarrrgghh lifted Claire so she could look over one of the rotted shelves. "Goodness, humans are so sensitive. Bookworms live in old, abandoned libraries that aren't often disturbed. They're private little creatures. This library used to belong to a wealthy gentleman in nineteen twenty-two, but after that nasty business with the Great Depression it went to rot. Shame...by the time we found it most of the books were too faded. Damp got in you see, and mold...paper has to stay dry to stay legible." Blinky skirted around another stack.

Jim still wasn't used to Blinky looking like a human. He was so peachy and pink and squishy compared to his blue stone. He hoped the potion wore off soon; it was clear Blinky was uncomfortable, even if some human things were enjoyable. He didn't seem to like being in a skin that wasn't his own, and Jim couldn't blame him for that. "And when you say bookworm you mean...?" Jim started. But as he lifted another tome he jumped. "Oh!"

Aaarrrgghh beamed. "Bookworm!"

Jim set the book aside, crouching to inspect the being. It was holding a wad of old, dusty paper in its hands and chewing on it slowly. The chubby body looked soft, seafoam green and shaped like a caterpillar's. It was nearly big enough to be a guinea pig, and instead of a caterpillar's head it had a little nose – actually it really did look like a stretched-out guinea pig - and big, dark eyes. It had a pair of arms with clever little paws.

"Aw, it's so cute!" Claire bent to see the bookworm and came close enough for Jim to smell her lipgloss. Plum something? He forced himself not to think about it as the tiny being put the paper down.

"Heya Blinky. Aaarrrgghh. Who're these kids?" The voice was obviously male, reedy and brittle.

"The Trollhunter, Jim Lake Jr, and his friends and fellow hunters Tobias Domzalski and Claire Nuñez." Blinky sat down so the bookworm didn't have to lift his head so much. "Biblius, we've come to request your assistance in gaining some Elixlore. There was a bit of a mishap with RotGut's bottle." The bookworm nodded.

"Sure, no problem. You know the deal, give me about half an hour and the regular fare and I'll getcha a good amount." Blinky pulled out a small bottle of water from his pant pocket and gave it over to the worm. He gestured to Toby, who bemusedly offered Biblius a Chinese takeout box, drawn carefully from his backpack. The bookworm opened it eagerly and sniffed. "Ah, shredded newspaper, magazine articles...nothing like modern fare junk food. The classics are good and rich, but everyone likes fast food. Did you print out one of those internet stories…what was it, scary pasta or something…yep, perfect. Love that garbage." He set the box aside and unscrewed the cap of the bottle of water. He tilted it so he could start drinking.

Claire glanced at Blinky. "So...you make Elixlore, Biblius?"

"I make the active ingredient," Biblius muttered around the bottle. "Elixlore is actually the watered down version."

"Oh? So where do you get it?" Toby asked, looking around. Jim didn't see any equipment or jars, which was presumably what Toby was searching for.

"I secrete it. Kind of like what you humans call...oh what is it...urinating? Or maybe it's more like sweat, I don't know, you humans have so many different bodily functions." Biblius kept gulping. "I have to have plenty of fluids to make any." He finished the bottle and waddled behind a stack of books, dragging the empty container behind him. "I'll be done in a bit," he called.

Jim turned to Toby. His friend's face was green. "I...drank a cup...of worm pee?"

"It is not the same as urine, though the substances are comparable," Blinky offered helpfully. "It's quite sterile and harmless I assure you." Jim cringed at the thought and Claire made a face. Toby ran for the exit, gagging.

They did end up replenishing RotGut's Elixlore. And Toby, after that, was much more circumspect about what he ate or drank in Trollmarket. Especially when it came to magic potions.

End of Prompt Ten


	11. Chapter 11

Prompt Eleven

Distance

(Post-Series)

* * *

"Did you get the pic of Enrique? He looked so cute in his Christmas sweater I just about died." Mary put her phone against the little bedazzled stand on her vanity so she could see Claire as she brushed her hair. Christmas seemed to come so fast anymore. Mary remembered dying for the day in years past, but it was only three days away now and December had blown by.

"I did. Thanks fo much for sending it. Mom and Dad can't seem to get a photo of him sitting still, he's just a little peachy blur every time!" Claire's smile was genuine, though she was breaking out and her eyes were slightly shadowed. Mary pulled half her hair into a braid – it made it easier to keep neat – and gave her friend a long look. "What?"

"You guys could come home for Christmas you know." Claire's smile dipped a little. "Everyone would love to see you." And it had to be insanely cold in the northeast.

"Yeah. I know. But it's not a good time. Things have been hectic in the new market." Mary finished her second braid and brushed it over her shoulder. "And…well, you know."

Mary _did_ know. She could read it in the tiredness of her friend's face. "Jim down again?"

"'Again?' He's never up, how can he be down _again_?" Claire shook her head. "Sorry, that was rude."

"It was honest." Not a year ago and they would have been sitting around drinking Christmas coffees, peppermint mocha something-or-other. Mary leaned forward, resting her elbows on her vanity and her chin in her hands. "I'm sending you some presents. So are your parents, Darci, and Toby. And Aaarrrgghh of course. You guys are going to have dozens of things to open. You won't even realize you're in a cave after this Christmas, it'll be too cozy and perfect and warm."

"That…not gonna lie, that actually sounds kind of nice." Mary picked up her phone and took a pen from one of the drawers. "It might cheer Jim up too." Claire sighed and the thickness of her sweater attested to the bitter chill of the wind. Mary's own room was warm and toasty. "Does it sound too materialistic to ask for some honeysuckle perfume?"

"Isn't that the kind your mom wears?" Claire nodded and Mary saw her eyes reflecting a little more light than they had a moment ago. "Claire, no one blames you for missing home. You or Jim. And wanting stuff that reminds you of it isn't bad either."

"I know. I wanted to go, and I'm glad I came with him, but…it's just so far away." Claire settled back on a dismal cot and Mary grabbed a notepad with a glittery pink skull on it. They'd got it at a Papa Skull concert two years before. She scribbled down, "new pillow, last one probably got eaten." The trolls didn't mean to be insensitive she supposed; it was hard on the road. But this was the third pillow darn it. She also added, "honeysuckle perfume like Mrs. Nuñez wears, fresh face wash, lavender oil diffuser. Do they have electricity for DVD player and movies?" Claire wiped her eyes, not exactly crying. More like leaking liquid stress. "You wouldn't believe how much fast food I've eaten lately. I feel so bad sitting around charging my phone and washing at the nearest McDonald's."

"Seems like Merlin could use some of that magic to actually do something useful like fix up the market or charge a freaking phone." Mary kept scribbling things as they came to her, putting off the inevitable. "How much charge does your phone have left?"

"About twenty percent. I need to call my parents, tell them goodnight." Claire wiped her eyes more forcefully. "Do I look like I've been crying?"

"Yeah. Wait about ten minutes and let your eyes cool." Mary licked her lips, tasting what might have been old tears herself. "Have you guys got your gyre station together?"

"Just about." Claire pushed her hair back, and Mary felt so far away from her. Her friend had not a year ago been eating triple-meat pizza with Darci and Mary, their biggest worry whether or not they would make a role in the school play and pass that stupid chemistry test. Now…

Claire bade her farewell and Mary looked at her vanity. There were stickers on it from middle school, sparkly skulls and dolphins. Mall pictures of her and her friends were taped around the mirror. She had a math test on Monday. Claire had to try to adjust to a nocturnal life. Mary's aunt was coming over for Christmas. Claire hadn't had a home-cooked meal in four months.

Mary closed the notebook and pulled on a sweater and fresh leggings. She placed a call, waiting for the recipient to pick up impatiently. "Mare? What's up? It's almost ten." Darci sounded a little drowsy.

"I'm going to go get some Christmas presents for Claire and Jim. Wanna see if TP and Aaarrrgghh want to go to the shopping center? It's open until midnight all this week." There was violence in her gestures, new energy, fire. "I have a list of things I think they could really use, I've been adding to it all week. The whole town donated enough money so we can send them some good stuff."

"After all they did I'm glad Arcadia Oaks wanted to give back in some way. I'll check with Steve and Eli and Shannon too." Darci's tiredness had vanished. "You called her?"

"Yep."

"How was she?"

Mary made a sound. It was somewhere between anger and tears.

She heard clothing rustling from Darci's line. "I'll be at your house in five."

End of Prompt Eleven


	12. Chapter 12

Prompt Twelve

First Encounters

(Pre-Series)

* * *

The troll was soaked in blood. Blinky's heart beat twelve times in three seconds before he realized that it was Gumm-Gumm blood. A little of it was the troll's own.

Kanjigar's sword was at his throat, though he was so tall that Kanjigar had to lift Daylight up to shoulder level. "Why are you here? Speak or die." The Trollhunter's face was set, iron and frozen. Blinky wondered if he and Dictatious could get his books together if they had to evacuate. It had taken so long to find a secret location after the horror. They had to move already?

The troll held burlap to his chest like a lumpy blanket. His green hair was caked black, sticking to his chops and shoulders. His horns were cracked, as if he'd been ramming stone for hours. Slowly he lowered his arms.

Everything changed in that moment. Kanjigar lowered his sword and Blinky's heart, rather than racing, nearly stopped. "The children…! Oh, they're all right!"

Three baby trolls wriggled and cooed in the burly arms. Blinky hurried forward and took two, Kanjigar warily taking the third. The troll leaned forward, resting on his legs and forearms as if walking on two legs didn't come naturally to him. Kanjigar studied the little faces before returning his gaze to the bloodied troll. "…These are the children stolen a month ago. The ones taken by Gunmar's lieutenants."

The green eyes seemed dark in the sclera, but Blinky thought there was white in there yet. "No more lieutenants now. One less general." He lowered his head, and if Kanjigar had wanted to he could have lopped it off with a simple flick. "Aaarrrgghh. Three 'R's'." The voice was guttural, thick, slow.

Blinky glanced back toward the entrance. He'd only come out to bring Kanjigar something to eat. The Trollhunter had been keeping watch for sixteen hours. "Is that your name?"

"What humans call me." The troll lifted his head. Under all the blood and muck he was a krubera Blinky realized. The black seemed to fade from his eyes. Muted intelligence glinted in the green. "Aaarrrgghh…assigned to guard the babies. One put out hand. Called for 'Papa.'" He gestured to the one in Kanjigar's arms. "Little girl."

Kanjigar never looked away. "And you had compassion on them? These, but not thousands of others?"

Aaarrrgghh lowered his head again. "Aaarrrgghh not smart. Raised in Gunmar's army. But I…remembered…calling for my Papa."

Blinky cradled the babies and Kanjigar's hard eyes softened. "I…I see." He lowered Daylight. "You've done a great service to us. You look like you need tending."

"Aaarrrgghh have more work to do. Will leave you now." The krubera turned and Blinky started.

"Well just like that!? That's a fine how-do-you-do!" Aaarrrgghh turned, blinking. "You're one of Gunmar's soldiers, aren't you? Or a general or something. You have information that could help very much against him! And you can't just wander off knowing our new secret bunker!" He marched forward and grabbed one massive wrist in a free arm. "Really. Obviously you must stay here. For security's sake."

The krubera followed him, giving Kanjigar a bewildered look. "But…bad guy. Can't stay here. Just came to bring babies back. Now…best to fight as many as can. Before end."

Blinky huffed. "Get yourself killed in some suicide mission? I don't think so. You're much more valuable alive than dead!"

How many of their children had been taken, raised up like this troll, this Aaarrrgghh, into killing machines? How many of them even now burned for freedom? To let this troll slip through and end himself in battle…Blinky's whole being screamed in rejection of the thought.

"Blinky is right." They both stopped and Kanjigar gestured for them to follow him. The cave was not far, hidden in a thicket of trees, and the stairs shifted from earth to stone as he guided them into the hidden passage. It was a shoddy sort of place right now, but it was secret and safe. Draal met them at the bottom of the stairs. He snarled when he saw Aaarrrgghh but Kanjigar nudged him, muttering in gravelly undertone to his son. After a moment he continued, "My son, Draal, will lead you to a place to clean off. He will also help with your wounds. _Gently_," he added sternly. Draal frowned. "We will speak with you shortly. I'll bring our elder, Vendel, as well."

Blinky released the krubera and watched Draal lead him away. Kanjigar stood beside him in silence. "What do you think?"

"I think…he made me very sad." Blinky cuddled the two babies, sighing. "It's a miracle."

"He was raised by Gunmar's forces, trained to kill. He's uneducated, brainwashed for violence. And yet…he still had the gentleness to hold the babies. I think this 'Aaarrrgghh' is a very unusual troll."

Blinky didn't have a chance to reply; more trolls had come up the cavern and one cried out – her baby was in Kanjigar's arms. The Trollhunter gave her the baby, a rare smile crossing his face. Blinky carried his two forward with the intent of finding their parents. "I suppose he knows how to make a first impression," Blinky mumbled.

End of Prompt Twelve


	13. Chapter 13

Prompt Thirteen

AU

* * *

"Mom? This…this is Jim. I'm reading off a cue card. If you want to…to see me alive again…"

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Barbara stared at the wall.

"You'll bring the Amulet of Daylight to the Arcadia Oaks Museum within twelve hours. You'll come alone." Silence fell again for a moment and all she could hear was his shaky breath. "Mom, these people want to hurt you, don't come-!"

The message ended. Blinky stared at her, all four hands in fists. Aaarrrgghh's fur stood on end. "Lady Barbara, forgive me. We should have protected the house better, I-"

She put up a finger and stood, walking around Blinky's study in silence. The trolls watched worriedly. Barbara glanced at the amulet on the table, innocuous and dim. This would never have happened if she hadn't found it.

Barbara took a deep, smooth breath. "This is the last straw. No more playing by the rules. I'm done." Taking a seat, Barbara pulled the nearest scroll toward her and took a pen out of her lab coat pocket. "Blinky, do you know of any working flashlights stored down here, maybe with RotGut? Really, really powerful ones."

Blinky, true to his name, blinked. "I…yes. There are several, though the bulbs are often broken."

"That's fine. Aaarrrgghh, I need you to go fetch the list of things I give you. They're chemicals with long names, but as long as the words match what I write they'll be what I need, okay hon? I need to run to the store and pick up some pet urine detector flashlights, bulbs if they have them…maybe UV floodlights if I can find them…"

"Lady Barbara, I do apologize, but what are you going on about?" Blinky asked. "Your son is in danger! Do we have time for this?"

"Not much, but I'm tired of our enemies being a step ahead. I don't like that we're going to be stealing, but if it means saving my son and keeping Killahead closed, I think it's worth it." She finished writing and gave the list the Aaarrrgghh. "Oh, and call NotEnrique please." She adjusted her glasses and the trolls exchanged a glance. "We're going to need someone small enough to get into vents."

* * *

The women with the swords was watching him. Jim tried not to look at her. "I don't like this. There's only an hour left before the time limit runs out." She extended a blade and Jim pulled back as much the chair would let him when she lifted his chin with the blade. "Are we really going to kill him?"

Jim looked at Strickler, disbelieving. The man refused to meet his gaze. "We'll cross that bridge when we-"

"I will kill him if Stricklander is too soft." The monster had drawn close again – Bular, if his panicked memory served – and his breath was like meat left out too long, blowing in his face. "He's small for my taste, but he'll be a pleasant snack."

Jim wouldn't pass out. He refused. But he couldn't keep himself from shaking. He didn't even know how he'd gotten here; last thing remembered, Strickler had called him to his office, saying he had a call from Jim's mother, and then…

Then he was tied to a chair in front of some bizarre stone arch and forced at sword point to read off a cue card, Strickler standing there and watching the whole thing. Bular was something out of a horrifying story, a huge, stony creature that kept talking about eating him, and the museum director Nomura was something called a "changeling" or "Impure," if Bular's term was correct. She was made of a violet rock and her green eyes glowed.

"Mr. Strickler," he managed. "This…this is some kind of joke, right?"

Strickler wouldn't look at him. Jim swallowed. "You're seriously going to try to kill my Mom? You – you're my teacher! You came to our house! I thought you lo-"

"Be quiet Young Atlas or we will have to gag you." Strickler finally looked at him and Jim screamed. His eyes were red, sclera yellow, and they glowed in a cold, contemptuous way.

"Way to go, now he's going to hyperventilate," Nomura said wryly. "You remember you were here to keep him halfway calm?" Bular on the other hand inhaled.

"Ah fear. What a pleasant seasoning. I hope she's late." He showed Jim his teeth and Jim shut his eyes tight. There was no way this was happening, these lunatics wanted to hurt his mom over some brooch or something and it didn't make _sense_-

The door clicked. Another person came in, their flesh a sort of lemon-yellow stone. Strickler's posture became rigid as Mom walked through the door. The other person slipped away uneasily, as if they feared her presence.

She was wearing a baggy rain coat, soaked from the storm outside. In one hand she held an amulet, glittering with rain. Droplets ran down her glasses and her expression…Jim had never seen her make that face.

Jim fought for his voice. "Mom," he whispered.

"Hi hon. Are you okay?" Her eyes warmed when she saw him and Jim couldn't stop tears when she smiled. "Don't be scared. Everything's going to be okay." She turned to Strickler and her eyes became cold again. "Walt, I have to admit. I am really disappointed in you. It's one thing to go after me, but to go after my son?"

Strickler blinked once and his mouth moved slightly. "Barbara."

"Don't." She faced Bular, toying with the amulet. The monster watched it hungrily. "This is what you want, right? And me to use it to open Killahead?"

"Precisely. Do that and your precious little boy won't be hurt." Jim gasped when Bular grabbed the back of the chair he was tied to, shaking it like he weighed nothing. "Though I can't promise the same for you."

Mom looked around the room thoughtfully. "Sure. In fact, here." She pitched the amulet and it soared into the air, clinking as it rolled into the corner of the room. Bular stared at her and then paced toward it, steps loud and making the room rattle. Then Mom pulled something out of her pocket and Jim barely knew what was happening.

It looked like a heavy-duty flashlight, the kind a miner might use. She switched it on and for some reason the light was purple. A UV bulb? Jim watched in bewilderment as she shone it directly into Nomura's face.

The woman screamed, stone hissing and steaming where the light hit. "It's a trick!" she screeched. Bular spun in place and roared, the very floor vibrating with the noise. The doors burst open and another huge figure came though, this one with green fur on its head and gray stone for skin. It met the roar and galloped on all fours toward Bular, colliding with him and pushing him back toward the corner. The two began to wrestle, the gray one gripping Bular in a sort of bear hug.

Nomura cursed and Jim tensed as she lifted the blade, but Mom's grimace grew darker and she opened her hand. The amulet, lying in the corner only a moment before, appeared in her hand with a flash of blue light. At the same moment another troll, this one blue with four arms and six eyes, barged forward and shone another flashlight right in Nomura's face. Two beams were too much – she retreated, and suddenly she was the museum curator again. She blinked against the light but it obviously no longer hurt.

Strickler finally moved. "Barbara, stop this! If you value Jim's life-!"

Mom bared her teeth. "For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!" The amulet flew to her chest and brilliant armor swarmed over her body and limbs, covering her head to toe. A horned helmet fixed itself around her head and a long, large blade appeared in her hand. She tossed her flashlight to the blue troll.

At the same moment the vent nearest them popped open, as if something had kicked out the metal plating. A hissing noise emanated from it and Jim realized Nomura had been pushed in that direction on purpose. She coughed once, wavering and stumbling. "The heck…?" she began.

"Nitrous oxide. And a few concentrated anesthetics." Mom said helpfully. Strickler wavered and in that moment Mom was there, swinging the blade at him. He danced back, eyes wild with shocked anger. "They work a lot better on humans than trolls."

The blue troll directed both beams at Bular, careful to keep the light off the gray troll. Nomura was dazed, dizzy, and Mom cut the robes binding Jim's hands. If terror hadn't been pumping through his body, he might have been amazed. "Stay behind me sweetie. Things might get messy."

"_Mom?_" he began. Strickler moved forward with a speed and sharpness that frankly scared him; people shouldn't move that fast. A knife was in his hand. But Mom met him, and instead of lashing out with the blade she grabbed his wrist, dropping the sword that was way too huge for a person to hold to grab it, and twisted his arm. In the same move she brought her knee up.

"Rule number three!" Strickler made a sound probably audible to dogs in the next state and fell clutching himself. The gas from the vent went silent.

Nomura was there suddenly, swinging at his mother drunkenly, and Jim grabbed the nearest thing he could find – some kind of ancient vase that was probably older than the Constitution. He apologized mentally to whatever culture had made it before hurling it at the woman. It shattered against her face and she instantly looked horrified.

"That was Mesopotamian you human piece of-!"

Mom hit her with the hilt of her sword in the moment of distraction. It had flown back to her hand like magic. "No swearing at my boy!" she snapped. Jim yelped as something else came running toward them, scrambling on all fours like a chimp in a hurry.

"Boss lady, goblins are heading this way! Let's get the heck outta here!" It wore a diaper and had bulging yellow eyes, and before Jim could make sense of it his mother had grabbed his arm.

"Honey, I need you to get outside and go home. There's someone there to protect you. His name is Draal, you can trust him. He's got a bad attitude but he's on our side." Jim stared at his mother, stunned. Her warm, smiling face had turned into that of a warrior, a fierce mother bear, and her glasses were cracked from the fight.

"But-But what about…?"

She kissed his cheek and turned him around, patting him between the shoulder blades and scooting him toward the door. "Mama's gotta see about killing Bular."

End of Prompt Thirteen

* * *

Please note that I am hardly a chemist and am not really certain of the details of how concentrated nitrous oxide or gaseous anesthesia would have to be to make someone woozy. I did do some research, and I really do hope the FBI doesn't come after me for researching how much laughing gas it takes to knock someone out. Please be a dear and chalk it up under the same grace as shows where characters can get thrown into a wall by creatures that weigh more than cars without their spine splintering.

Don't pretend Barbara wouldn't use any and all resources to protect people if she was chosen. That Krav Maga would be very helpful in combat training. Also I feel she would be able to keep the secret better than Jim simply because of the benefit of being an adult and not being stuck in a school with Strickler, who found out about the amulet just by glimpsing it in Jim's book bag.


	14. Chapter 14

Prompt Fourteen

The Fallen

(Season 2)

* * *

"This is the place sire."

Gunmar the Black looked away from the sky. "There are no stars above the city."

Otto inclined his front worshipfully. So much fawning and scraping. Gunmar thought it would be amusing to see him die. Perhaps one could fill his place with less bootlicking, one with real fealty. "The lights of the city outshine them my lord. There would be many if we were in the countryside where humans have fewer lights."

Gunmar looked down again. The canal was empty, silent, and clean. "My son died here."

Otto licked his lips. "He died valiantly, seeking your liberation."

"He was killed by a human whelp." Gunmar knelt in the place where Otto said Bular had fallen, pierced by the human Trollhunter and shattered by his former general. Night was welcome, dark, and Gunmar did not look away from the ground. "Leave me. I will call when I need you."

With only a moment's hesitation – perhaps he did have the sense the Pale Lady gave a changeling – Otto hurried to the other side of the canal, looking around nervously. But Gunmar knew there were no humans near. They made noise where they were, they brought lights. They tried to drive back the dark, not just in vision but in sound. They were afraid of solitude, of silence.

"You were killed," Gunmar said at last, "by a human babe. I am ashamed of this. I am ashamed to have brought such a weakling into this world. And I am ashamed to have reared you so weakly. But you were loyal to me, my son. In all things, in all ways, you were loyal. All your effort was for me. And for that I will remember it."

He put a hand flat on the ground. This was where the stone pieces had fallen. "In your last moment you struck, trying to damage our enemies with all you had left. In death you did not falter, and I know at least that you were brave. Foolish and brave. Know that I will rend the krubera limb from limb and feed him to the hordes of my warriors. He too will know the agony of being broken. He is a traitor to the cause and will suffer a traitor's death."

Claws digging into the stone – cement, he thought was the word – created tiny cracks. "As for the Trollhunter…I wanted to break him but it did not work. He had too many followers and they freed him, and in doing so I was freed. But for the role he played in your death, I will exact suffering from him. I will deny him the peace of death. He will be tortured before I use the Decimar Blade against him. He will flay his friends' flesh and stone from their bones, cut them asunder, and I will release him only after he is soaked in their blood." Gunmar cracked the ground, digging up a fist of cement. "I will eat him then. Only once he has known suffering ten times what you felt will he die. There shall never again be a word spoken of the 'Bular-Slayer.'"

He lifted the cement and held it to his mouth, breathing over it. "You were weak, but you were my son. And I will honor your sacrifice. Bular." Gunmar inclined his head, resting his horns against the broken cement. "Where you are, I hope there are black nights filled with stars."

The crumbled cement fell from his hand. He stood, gazing at the broken place he had created. "Let us go Otto. The sun will rise soon."

"Of course sire. Right away." Otto hurried to his side and Gunmar led the way back to the truck they had come in. He climbed into the back and pulled down the shutter, sealing himself into utter darkness. After a few moments there came the sound of the ignition, the engine, the growl of the exhaust tank. The truck moved steadily, the rush of ground a soothing rumble.

He kept a single piece of cement, tucked into his palm securely. No doubt the trolls of the market had disposed of his son's remains in an ignoble way. So for all intents and purposes, this represented his son.

Gunmar did not love in the sense that a father should. But even a Gumm-Gumm warlord could grieve, if just a little, for the fallen.

End of Prompt Fourteen


	15. Chapter 15

Prompt Fifteen

First Kiss

(Season Two)

* * *

"You know what just occurred to me?" Claire looked up from her textbook.

"What just occurred to you?" Jim hadn't lifted his head; he was staring at his book, eyes glued to the text. He was chewing absently on a piece of carrot – she couldn't share snacks that her parents would notice were missing from the fridge, but Claire was the only one that really cared much about veggies in the house – and she waited a moment so he could finish. She didn't want him to choke.

"We haven't had a normal first kiss."

The change was immediate. He sat upright, startled, and Claire tried not to laugh. "Uh w-uh, what?"

Claire lowered her gaze back to her textbook. "Well, our first kiss was the play, which doesn't really count. And the one when you came out of the Darklands was more of a, 'Wow, our adrenaline is going crazy and we're alive and I'm so happy to see you even if you smell,' kiss. Neither of them were very normal."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess they weren't." Jim rubbed the back of his neck and Claire felt bad for her amusement. "Did…did you want to try a normal kiss?"

"The idea had crossed my mind. Since Toby's not here and we've got a second to ourselves." Claire set her book aside, shutting her homework in it to keep her place. "I didn't mean to spook you."

"No, you didn't! I just…I wish I could brush my teeth…or something." He looked so sheepish that she could help but giggle. "What?"

"Nothing. You're just cute is all." She reached over and grabbed a carrot from the tray on her nightstand and took a bite. "There, now we both have carrot breath. We're even." Jim grinned a little and she sat on the floor beside him, scooting closer. "Could be worse. I could've ordered pizza with garlic sauce."

"And anchovies," he added. Claire leaned toward him with a small laugh and he took her cheek in his hand. Their lips met and this time it wasn't a dry, theatre peck or a frantic motion of relief. It was just nice and warm. His lips were soft and Claire threaded her fingers lightly through his hair. It went on for two seconds, maybe three, before they pulled back a little. Jim's face had gone pleasantly pink. "That was nice," he mumbled.

"It was. Even with the carrots." Claire glanced down a little. "Hm."

"What?" He lifted a hand and touched his mouth. "Something wrong?"

"No, I'm just going to do that again." She pulled his fingers out of the way to give him another kiss. Jim tilted his head and the kiss went on a little longer.

When she drew back she shyly tucked her head against his shoulder. Jim put an arm around her, warm and affectionate. "Well," he said, "let's call that our official, first kiss of actual dating, huh?"

"M'kay. Though for the record, I didn't mind the first two." Jim leaned against the wall, chin brushing against her forehead.

"Claire, I'm starting to think you just wanted to kiss me again," he said seriously. She mimed clapping.

"Excellent deduction! Your prize is another kiss." This one she snatched quickly and Jim hugged her, both of them giggling at their silliness. The front door downstairs shut and they went quiet. "Fudge knuckle. You'd better go, last thing we need is my dad spotting you in my room."

She helped him throw his textbooks in his backpack and he climbed out the window. "I'll distract them downstairs. See you tomorrow," Claire whispered. Jim hesitated and, before he ducked out of sight, pecked her on the cheek.

"See you tomorrow." His face was flush with excitement and she waved him on. Jim disappeared from her window and hid the vegetable tray under her bed before opening the door to greet her parents.

* * *

Jim closed the front door behind him, sighing with relief. "Hey Mom, I'm home," he called, setting his backpack down. Mom was in the kitchen, and even the smell of her cooking couldn't worry him. Hard chicken and gluey dumplings? Who cared? Mom looked up from the pot on the stove and paused, cocking her head to the side. "Something wrong?"

"Oh…no. Nothing." She smiled and looked back to the pot. "So did Claire help you study?"

He froze. "Uh…some. How'd you know I was with Claire?"

Mom shook her head. "I know that starry-eyed look honey. And you _might _have a little lip gloss on your mouth."

End of Prompt Fifteen


	16. Chapter 16

Prompt Sixteen

Magic

(Pre-Series)

* * *

Nana took down the box and blew off the dust, lowering it into his hands. "I thought long and hard about what to get for your birthday Toby Pie. Last year was that game system, and I did get you a game, but ten is special."

Toby was curious, although he kept his hopes low. He was plenty happy with a new game, and if Nana was going to give him a family heirloom that was cool, but stuff from the attic usually smelled funny and was over thirty years old. He would act appropriately excited, but an ancient sweater or pocket watch or something wasn't terribly interesting. She lifted off the faded cardboard lid and Toby blinked in surprise.

"A magic kit? Aw...thanks Nana. Why do you have this?" Toby liked magic, but he didn't remember ever saying he wanted to try it himself. The deck of cards was bent from a thousand tricks, the wand's white ends going yellow. And he thought a moth might have gotten at the silk top hat.

"Well Toby Pie, it was your father's. He started learning it when he was your age." Nana took out the hat and straightened it. A pair of well-used gloves fell to the floor and Toby stooped to get them for her.

"My Dad? Huh...he always was good at coin tricks. I remember when I was three I freaked out because I thought I had a bunch of quarters in my brain." She smiled at him.

"Oh, I taught him the coin tricks." She took out what looked like an arcade token from the box and flipped it along her fingers. Toby watched in amazement as it went back and forth with a dexterity he would have never expected from her little old hands. "Your father saved up his allowance for months for this set – we didn't have much spare money when your Grandpa passed. It remember him whiling away the hours, figuring out the tricks. He used better tools as he improved, but I kept this first one for posterity. I thought you might like it someday."

Toby held the gloves more thoughtfully. His dad's hands had once been small enough to fit them. "Thanks Nana. This is really nice. I knew Dad liked magic but I didn't realize he could do other tricks."

"Oh my, yes! He used to do small shows for pocket change. Other kids had lemonade stands, but he set out lawn chairs and charged a quarter for an hour of magic in the front yard. In fact..."

Nana sat down on one of the storage chairs. Toby found a sturdy box, still holding the kit. "Did your father ever tell you about the talent show in his senior year of high school?" He shook his head. "Well, it was going to be at the beginning of summer, right after school let out. It was always a big to do, all the seniors wanted to win it because it was the last chance they got to try. Only students could compete you see. So he starts practicing all his tricks, making sure he's got a good act together. I thought it very nice indeed, but he wanted a big trick for the finale. A showstopper. But to do it he would need an assistant."

She smiled. "Now he had a crush on this very pretty girl. Green eyes, auburn hair, just a darling. Sweet as could be, but a bit shy. He got it into his head he wanted to ask her to be his lovely assistant. So he plucked up his courage and asked her during a class they shared. And after a moment she said she would. She came over to our house several times to practice…she liked my pie."

Toby grinned. "Everyone likes your pie Nana."

"Anyway, when the day came, they were ready. Your father looked like a real magician, all dressed in a suit and red bow tie. She had a pretty sequined jacket and it was just lovely." She winked. "I think he worked extra hard to impress her. They did a wonderful job, right up until the very end."

Toby frowned. "Did the trick go wrong?"

"Hold your horses! You see, your father had set up a special box so it could look like she was sawn in half, you know? The secret was the fact that he'd built a box special for it, and it was much deeper than it looked. But something happened in front of all those people for her – she just got so nervous that she had to take a break. It was so sad, she knew she was letting him down for the trick, but she said she just couldn't stand getting in the box. Poor dear was crying and she finally told him that she wanted to be part of the trick for him, but she had awful claustrophobia!"

"She waited that long to tell him!?" Toby shook his head in disbelief. "That was super dumb."

"I think she hoped she could get her courage up in time. You see it turns out she had a big crush on _him_ too, and she was very excited when he asked her to be his assistant." Toby thought of his own crush from last year, a pretty blond girl named Becky, and supposed he could understand. "She was just too scared to get in the box."

"So the trick didn't work out?" Nana's eyes twinkled.

"It went wonderfully. Your father took off his hat, put it on her head, and said, 'All right, I'll be the assistant and you be the magician. I'll get in the box and you do the sawing. You know how it works.' So the young lady performed the trick and your father tucked himself down in that box and got 'sawn' in half!"

Toby thought of his broad, burly father squishing himself into a box so a pretty lady could saw him in half and giggled. "Did they win?"

Nana sighed and put up her hands. "No, a girl that played a rather lovely Concerto on her violin did. She was quite popular. But they did come in second." She reached up and pulled a medal out of one of the boxes. The neck was starting to fray, but the metal piece was still shiny. "Of course, your father and that young lady started dating, so neither of them really cared about winning." She handed him the medal and Toby held it in reverent hands. "He proposed to her a few years later. He used the three cup trick to do it; he put a ball under one of the cups, switched them around, and had her pick the one she thought had the ball under it. But when he was switching them he swapped out the ball for an engagement ring."

Two things occurred to Toby. First, his father had game. Second…

"Wait, that's how Mom and Dad met? Doing magic?" He stared at the box in his hands. "So if Dad had never gotten into magic, he might never have met Mom…"

"Life's funny that way, Toby Pie." Nana stood up slowly and he heard her bones popping. "I thought you might like it is all."

"I do Nana. Thank you." He hopped up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Maybe I can look up some magicians and figure out the tricks online."

"Oh yes, on that…tube-you thing, right?" Toby grinned as she made her way carefully down the stairs, following her. "You know, I think I have one of his shows on video around here. Would you like me set it up?"

"That sounds good. I'd like to examine his technique." Toby dared to try on one of the gloves after peeking inside to check for bugs. It was a little snug, but it fit his fingers. He took the token out of the box and folded it behind his fingers, trying to mimic the trick Nana had showed him. It made it one or two fingers before falling. He picked it up. Practice would make perfect.

End of Prompt Sixteen


	17. Chapter 17

Prompt Seventeen

Shakespeare

(Pre-Series)

* * *

Claire shifted from foot to foot. Her ankles ached from standing so long and she nearly sat down on the sidewalk. If Mom hadn't been holding her hand to keep her nearby, she might have. "Are we almost done Mama?"

"In a minute dear, I'm trying to figure out the design for your cousin. She's not much good at color coordination." This was added in undertone. Her cousin was getting married in three months and the panic was infectious. She hadn't even figured out the colors for her bridesmaids' dresses, the flowers, the decorations…which left them looking into florist shops, bridal stores, and a hundred other things. Her cousin came out of the shop holding a set of tiger lilies and baby's breath.

Claire liked pretty dresses as much as the next ten-year-old girl, but two hours was pushing it. They'd walked all over town and she just wanted to sit for a while. She looked across the road. There was a park with swing sets, a pretty gazebo, people in costumes…wait, what?

"Mama, can I go over there? There's lots of grown-ups." Claire looked up at her mother hopefully and the woman hesitated, gazing across the road.

Her cousin, Elena, followed her eyes. "Oh, Shakespeare in the Park. They do it the first Saturday of every month during the summer. They're pretty good. It might be a little over a kid's head, but the folks there are super nice."

"Well…we are right across the road. Got your phone hija?" Claire showed her the flip phone her mother insisted she carry – for emergencies and calling her parents, of course – and Mom nodded. "All right. You know the drill."

"Don't talk with strangers unless they're police, blah-blah-blah." She kissed her mother's cheek and hurried across the road toward the grassy park. Speeding past the swings and seesaw, Claire slipped toward the gazebo. There were foldout chairs in front of it, and about six people littered the area. Most of them were older, but Claire sat down toward the front as quietly as possible.

A lady in a long red dress was speaking to a man. She looked regal, curly hair held back by a cloth. She was speaking as if grieved. Claire was startled to hear her mother's name, "Ophelia." She was speaking of a character to the man. "There is a willow grows aslant a brook, that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream," she said. Claire frowned; what did all of it mean? She had always been considered pretty bright, but this sounded old, almost mystical. She let it flow over her, unsure of all the meanings but enjoying the grand sounds.

"Therewith fantastic garlands did she come, of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples that liberal shepherds give a grosser name; but our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke-"

She'd been picking flowers? What kind of name for a flower was "dead men's fingers?" The woman seemed so grieved and Claire felt the tightness of apprehension as she grew more distraught.

As she went on, Claire learned this woman being spoken of, Ophelia, had fallen into a brook and drowned. The speaker was called Gertrude, a queen, and the man was Hamlet. Claire tried to follow along with the story. An hour passed, maybe more. By the end nearly everyone was dead, and when the audience clapped Claire couldn't help but feel muddled. Why the heck had all those people killed each other? It had been a little much.

The actors were leaving the gazebo, taking down their props. A woman dressed in a long white dress caught Claire's eye. She was very slight and pretty, hair dark and silky and cut just above her shoulders. Claire wished her hair could be that straight. There was a blue streak in it, something that struck her as very daring and bright. The young woman noticed Claire and smiled. "You're a bit young to be watching Hamlet, aren't you?"

Claire blushed. "I'm already ten! But…I wasn't sure of everything they were saying. It sounded beautiful though." The woman sat on the nearest chair.

"Shakespeare is pretty tough to understand at first. The more you read and hear, the better you get. Have you ever heard of Romeo and Juliet?" Claire nodded. "This play was written by the same man. It's about Hamlet, whose father, the king, was killed by his brother, and him trying to avenge the death. Along the way a lot of other people die as he seeks revenge and his uncle tries to maintain power since he's become king. My character, Ophelia, loses her father and even her own life because of the fight."

"That's my mom's name." Claire digested what she'd been told. "Why do they all keep killing each other? Why don't they call the police, or whatever they had back then?"

The lady smiled. "That's a good idea, but remember that the uncle was king by that point? He probably controlled the guards." Claire nodded. "It's a story about revenge, and all the things that come from it. Hamlet loses pretty much everyone he cares about and even his own life because of his desire for revenge."

How interesting. Claire tilted her head. "So it's not exactly like good against evil. It's more like good-ish versus bad-ish. Hamlet's not wrong to want justice, but he goes about it wrong."

"Exactly. You're pretty sharp." The lady looked up and stood. "Sorry hon, I've got to get this costume back and change. Me and my band mates are playing a local bar in less than an hour."

Wow, an actress _and _she was in a band? Claire felt a little starstruck. "What's your band called?"

"We're tossing around names right now. We're going by 'Papa' right now, our dads helped us a lot in getting our gear, inspiring our love of music." Claire thought of her own Papa, always working to help her with school, and understood quickly. "We want to acknowledge all they did with the name." The woman paused. "What do you think? 'Papa' on its own is a little forgettable and we want to spice it up. Any name ideas?"

Claire chewed her lip thoughtfully, glancing back at the gazebo. The play was still swimming in her head and she couldn't think of much else. A man walked by with a box of props and Claire blinked, seeing a familiar white object atop it. "I liked the skull part of the play, where Hamlet talked to it. Maybe Papa Skull?"

The girl crossed her arms slowly, watching the props as well. "…Kiddo, you might just be a genius. I'll run that by my bandmates." She checked her watch. "Shoot, I gotta head out. If you want my advice, look into Shakespeare as you get older. But stay away from Titus Andronicus until you're eighteen!" She hurried off toward a beat up van in the street, a couple of girls in the front and giving her nervous looks. Claire waved after her. Would her mother consider letting her dye some of her hair blue when she got older?

"Claire, there you are!" Her mother sounded relieved and Claire turned to see her and Elena approaching, carrying multiple bags. Claire hurried to her and took two bags. "Thank you dear. How was the play?"

"It was neat. I didn't understand everything, but the words sounded so beautiful. It was called Hamlet."

Mom smiled. "My mother loved that play! She got the name Ophelia from it. It's a bit bloody though, isn't it?"

"A bunch of characters died! But they didn't have a bunch of blood flying around, it was just acting," Claire added hastily, hurrying after her. "I want to try reading some Shakespeare, Mama! Maybe some of the easier ones first?"

"I think I have a book of his works at home, some of his poetry." Mom put out an elbow and Claire took it. "I'll look when we finish up here." Claire followed her obediently, happy to finally be heading home.

But she never did forget that day of Shakespeare in the Park.

End of Prompt Seventeen


	18. Chapter 18

Prompt Eighteen

A Heart Divided

(Pre-Series)

* * *

Barbara looked at the letter again. She kept scanning it, looking for a reason. A real reason, not some inane nonsense like, "This just isn't working out," and, "I have to be true to myself." "You deserve better," sounded so paltry. "You'll find someone better for you," even dumber.

Had there been signs? He'd been distant lately, but distant could mean a man needed time to himself. Like a day trip or working on a project. She hadn't thought it might mean sauntering out the door and never looking back. If he was unhappy he could have said something. Anything.

She folded the letter and put it into her dresser drawer and went downstairs. It didn't feel real. The world was distant, hovering like a warm breath, and she wondered if coffee might help. Did she want it to help?

"Mommy?" She looked back up the stairs. Jim stood at the top, rubbing his eyes. "Where's Daddy? He said we'd work on my bike today."

Oh. Now it felt too real. Now the world was cracking and it really hit her that James Lake was gone. She gestured for Jim to come down the stairs and he did, careful on the steps. Barbara took him in her arms, wrapping him in a hug and lifting him. She said nothing at first, drinking in the feeling of his sleepy warmth and the moment that wasn't yet destroyed. "Honey, Mommy...needs to explain something to you."

How _did_ one explain this? It wasn't the kind of thing she'd ever had to learn about. Her father had never walked out, never given up on his family. This shouldn't be one of those "rite of passage" talks like the birds and the bees.

She carried her son to the sofa and sat him down. His blue pajamas had rockets all over them - James would pretend he was launching him into space. Jim watched her quietly, eyes big. She sat beside him and, after thinking on it more, she let him crawl into her lap. "What's wrong?" he asked. He was such a sweet thing, her darling boy.

"Jim, your father...he's not here. He left early this morning." Barbara's heart recoiled at the words. No, no, it couldn't be. He wouldn't leave. The man that had fathered her little boy, the man she loved so much, he wouldn't just-

Barbara took a deep breath. Jim frowned. "Did he go to the store?"

"No sweetie. I don't think Daddy is coming back." She waited as Jim absorbed this. His puzzled frown became bewildered.

"Why?"

Wasn't that the question? Certainly there had been sentences explaining it, but they didn't stick. They didn't ring with truth.

What did one say? Daddy didn't love them anymore, at least not enough to stay? Daddy had found another girl and decided he wanted to go with her? Daddy didn't care about the responsibility to his wife and child and took off to leave them in the aftermath of bills and her schooling and childcare and raising a little boy alone while she worked and tried to keep a home alone?

Barbara kissed Jim's forehead. "I don't exactly know baby. Daddy left a note saying he needed to leave, and he won't be coming back. It's...it's just us now."

"But why!?" Jim grabbed her sleeve, staring at her insistently. "Why wouldn't he take us with him!?"

"I don't know." Barbara hugged him close. "I don't know Jim. Daddy seemed to think this...just wasn't right for him. I would tell you if I knew why, but I don't. I'm so sorry honey."

Jim had started to cry and Barbara shut her eyes as tight as she could because she didn't want him seeing hers. "Is - is it because I broke the cup yesterday?" He hid his face in her neck and sobbed. "I'll get - get a new one-"

"No." She took his face in her hands and wiped his cheeks. "Jim, you listen to me. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. Daddy's problems, whatever they are, belong to him. You didn't do anything wrong."

Jim's face was pink, tears rolling down his cheeks. He sniffed. "Mommy." He put out a hand and touched her face and she hated that she was crying now too. Clumsily he pushed a hand over her cheek. "Mommy, I don't understand."

"I don't either baby. I don't know what to tell you. But Mommy's staying right here. It's going to be okay. I know you're sad. But I promise everything will be okay." She held him close, as much for her comfort as for his. He wrapped his little arms tight around her neck.

Barbara Lake's heart broke, parsed into pieces by the betrayal. She buried her face in Jim's shirt and rocked him, breathing slow and deep. Tears didn't do much; they were healthy in venting emotions, but Barbara had never been that much of a crier. She needed to make things okay for her boy right now. There would be time to ponder on James Lake later. Right now…

She wiped her face before picking him up, carrying him to the kitchen so she could sit him at the table. Barbara snagged a tissue along the way, dabbing his cheeks and clearing his face. "Jim, it's going to be all right." Her voice was solid now, and Jim looked at her as if rallying himself. "I need to call Grandma and Grandpa. Then we'll…we'll go get breakfast. What sounds good to you?"

He shook his head. "My tummy hurts."

"Yeah, I know…mine kind of does too." Barbara swept his hair aside neatly. "But you know, I bet after a little bit we'll feel up to chocolate-chip waffles. That café nearby should be open soon."

As if in spite of himself, Jim did lift his head a little. "M'kay." He wiped his face hard again. "It's okay Mommy. We're…we're gonna be okay."

How did a little boy know to say that? Barbara kissed his forehead again. "You got that right. I'll help you get dressed in a minute. Let me call your grandparents and we'll get some food, okay?" She needed to…something. Say something, scream something. Break down, curse like a sailor. Something.

But for right now, she needed to cut out that piece of her heart that was bleeding and stuff it away. She needed to take care of her boy. So she ignored that ache in her chest and pulled instead the part of herself that was calm, cool, intelligent. The part that could see a man bleeding out and remember how to apply a tourniquet with his children screaming in fear.

Barbara pushed away the brokenness in her and found her phone. She dialed her mother, never leaving Jim alone in that too big, too quiet kitchen.

End of Prompt Eighteen


	19. Chapter 19

Prompt Nineteen

Reunited

(Post-Series, Human Jim)

* * *

Claire winced. "I think she's going to take after her Grandpa. He did like playing soccer. Ouch."

Jim put down the box of diapers into the cart and came to her side. "Is it bad?"

"I don't know if 'bad' is the word. Those tiny muscles are impressive is all. And it's my kidney. I miss not needing to pee constantly." Claire ran a hand down the curve of her stomach and Jim knelt, putting a warm hand over it. In less than two weeks their baby was due and Claire, even in the haze of pregnant weariness, felt a warm little thrill at the love in his eyes.

"Hey, give Mommy a break in there. She needs those organs." A flicker of movement against his palm made him grin. "She likes kicking at me when she hears me."

"Better outside than in. I predict now she will be a Daddy's Girl." Claire smiled as he stood. "Are we just about done? We've got the diapers, wipes, swaddling blankets, powder…"

"Add that to the gifts from the shower and we're swimming in baby preparation. Enough to set up a place in Trollmarket for when Blinky watches her during missions." Jim returned to pushing the cart, Claire walking – she refused to think of herself as "waddling" – beside him. "Are you hungry?"

"Lately, always." She pecked his cheek. "I could do with a salad…maybe with jalapeños on it." He cringed and she laughed. "Cravings are real! My mom was dying for raisins and ranch dressing when she was pregnant with Enrique. _Together_."

"I may throw up in my mouth. Jalapeños on salad sounds pretty normal now." He paused to let another person through the aisle, a dark-haired man with a ten-year-old in tow. Claire watched them fondly – that might be Jim in a few years. Well, except it would be a girl.

"What do you think Tommy, would Mom want vanilla or chocolate?" the man asked.

"Chocolate, that's her favorite." The boy took a box off the shelf and put it in the cart for his father. The pair moved on and Claire smiled.

"That's cute. Chocolate sounds kind of good right now too, if I'm honest-"

She stopped. Jim wasn't listening. He was staring ahead, eyes glued to the wall, and he was so still he might have been stone. Claire stepped closer, touching his back. "Babe? What is it? You okay?"

He blinked a few times. "…That was my dad."

Claire paused. She looked after the man, disappearing around a corner. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I know his voice. I remember." He didn't sound angry, just stunned. Jim leaned on the cart, staring down. "I guess Vermont lost its appeal." Claire awkwardly put her arms around him, difficult because of her belly.

New Jersey was much closer to Vermont than California, she supposed. "You okay?"

"…I'm fine. Let's just finish up and get home." Jim took her hand, squeezing reassuringly, though whether it was for her or himself was hard to say. "Let's get some salad and jalapeños."

Checkout was uneventful and Jim put the cart away, not allowing her to hold more than the jar of jalapeños, the bag of salad, and a few chocolate bars she'd found a little too appealing to pass up. He carried the other items easily – wielding a sword was the equivalent of multiple arm workouts she thought.

They stopped as they left the store. "…Is this some kind of divine punishment?" Jim asked, glancing at her. She shook her head slightly, doubtful of the sight. A delivery truck for the grocery sat in the parking lot, a flat tire visible from their place. It blocked half the lot; several people were watching in exasperation as employees swarmed the truck, trying to lighten the load so they could get a new tire on it. And not ten feet from them stood James Lake and the boy, Tommy. He had dark hair just like his father, though his face wasn't quite as gentle as Jim's. It didn't surprise her. Jim's features were very like his father's but there was a softness to his eyes and jaw that made him inviting. That was all his mother.

She took her husband's arm. "You want to go wait inside?"

"No. There's a bench over there, why don't you sit down?" Claire sighed, as her feet were starting to ache. She settled on the bench, Jim standing beside her to leave the other part of the bench open. She held the bag in her lap and looked into it.

"I'm half inclined to go ahead and just start eating straight peppers," she said in an effort to distract him. Jim smiled faintly at her. "This little girl is going to love spicy food. Toby will have competition."

"Ah, sounds like my wife with Tommy." Claire glanced up, startled. James was looking at her, expression friendly. Her heart hammered and she forced her face to remain blank. Fudge-knuckle. "She liked hot salsa."

"Oh. Yeah, those cravings are something." Claire directed her attention instead to the boy. "Does that mean you like spicy stuff?" He grinned and shook his head, half-hiding behind his father.

Jim said nothing. Claire boiled inside, seething. This man didn't recognize his son? Maybe he just looked and sounded a lot like James? It didn't matter really; she couldn't lay into him in front of his little boy, it wasn't fair to the kid. Even if it was James Lake. The boy looked up. "Dad, can I go play the claw machine inside? I'll come right back."

"Well, I guess we'll be here a minute." The man gave Tommy a couple dollars. "Stay right there in the window where I can see you, all right?" The boy hugged him before taking off, running back into the store. James shook his head fondly. "First time parents?"

"…Yeah." Jim's hand tightened a little on hers as he said the word. "You have any other kids?"

"Ah, a daughter with my current wife." Claire's ears were pounding with blood. Was there a spot of guilt on his face? He should be drowning in it. James was blind if he couldn't see the resemblance. But was it him?

"Your name, is it James Lake?" she blurted. Jim twitched and the man's brows shot up.

"Yeah, it is. How'd you know that miss?" Claire felt heat rise in her cheeks and she could have sworn the baby in her belly whirled in an angry tornado with her. "Have…we met?"

"Not before today." Jim squeezed her hand in warning but Claire stood, aware that James was taller than her. "I'm Claire. Claire Lake." The man's brows furrowed. "This is my husband _Jim_. After his father."

What was the expression that appeared on his face? Was it horror? No, not quite surprised enough. Was it shame or defiance? Was it a molten conglomeration? Claire's jaw ached – was it too crazy to want to physically bite his face off? Was that pregnancy hormones affecting her mood or just pure hatred? Tommy came running back, clutching a soft yellow bear in his hands. "Look Dad, I won! Sissy will like it, don't you think?" He turned and Claire closed her eyes. "Lady, your face is red. Are you okay?"

She breathed out slowly. Look at the child. He didn't deserve to deal with…any of it. None of anything was his fault. She managed a smile. "My baby's just temperamental. I think she's going to play soccer she kicks so much." Tommy looked concerned.

"Mom used to drink tea with Sissy. Have you tried tea?"

The anger reluctantly dredged back. "I'll have to drink some later. That's a very good idea. Tommy, right? You seem like a very nice boy." She nudged Jim's side. "You kind of remind me of my husband. Isn't that funny?"

"I'm not old enough to get married," Tommy said seriously. James fidgeted and Claire laughed.

"Oh I know sweetie. I only need one husband anyway." She kept her tone light and lifted her gaze to James. "You're a lucky man to have such a good son. I hope you know that." He nodded slightly and Jim patted Claire's arm.

"I think they're about to move the truck hon. You want to get going?"

"That sounds good. It was nice to meet you Tommy." Claire stood again with an effort. She didn't look at James again, walking in front of Jim as the truck moved out of the lot. They remained quiet until they were both seated in the car.

Claire sat in the passenger seat and punched the dash. "That stupid-! That jerkface-dumbbutt-bushigal-eater!" She kicked at the floor before crossing her arms and glaring out the windshield.

Jim looked at her. "'Jerkface-dumbbutt-bushigal-eater?' Really?"

"Babies can hear in the womb. I don't want her to be a potty mouth." Claire fumed in her seat. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I wanted him to _know_. He missed out! Tommy seems like a good boy but he could have had you, and he lost out on something special! He could've at least been a man and left on mutual terms and supported you and your mom! Sucks to be him because he didn't get to be part of your life and you're a mother-loving treasure so he can just – just – sit in a tipped-over port a potty!"

Claire panted for breath, aware that the baby was in a tizzy from the yelling. She patted her stomach. "Sorry little one. Mommy's super mad right now."

"Claire." Jim was looking at her, and his eyes were gentle, a little amused. Her anger lessened – she'd made him laugh so that was a victory. "I'll admit I was kind of shocked, but…it's best this way. It looks like he's sticking around for Tommy so that's good." He took her hand and kissed it. "And me? I've got a great mom and a _few_ really awesome father figures. Best friends that helped me get my life back. A job to take care of a whole civilization. And one amazing wife that going to give me a daughter that we'll raise together." He lifted her hand and tucked it to his face. "I made out like a bandit. I don't need him."

"…Well, you did get a pretty cool wife." Claire relaxed slowly. "Did I act too crazy?"

"Nah. Perfect amount of crazy." Jim turned the key in the ignition. "Let's get back. After we drop off the stuff we can go to Trollmarket, Blinky wants to make sure the nursery there is human-baby proof."

Claire laughed. "He's so excited to be a Grandpa it's adorable. But I am definitely throwing a salad together when we get home." They left the lot and the sour, unpleasant sensation of an unwanted, unexpected reunion far behind.

End of Prompt Nineteen


	20. Chapter 20

Prompt Twenty

Chef Jim

(Mid-Series)

* * *

"I can't believe you're getting extra credit for this." Toby carried another tray from the trunk of the Lake care, setting it on the foldout tables in front of the school. "I know the bake sale is important for the art department, but _fifty _points?"

"A benefit of having a math teacher that also teaches theatre and knows how to barter." Jim set down his plate of cookies as well. "If it means I scrape a C, I'm happy."

Toby pulled back the cellophane and the smell hit him like a lover's embrace after an eternity apart. "Oh…these are diet-killers, that's what they are. It's good you only make them twice a year." Toby waved the scent toward his face like he was inhaling the bouquet of a fragrant wine. "You can be honest you know. Do you put crack in these? I'll still eat them, I just want full disclosure of ingredients."

"No. Just a bunch of butter and sugar and all that other good, unhealthy stuff." Jim shook his head amusedly, unwrapping the other plate. "Think they'll make enough to put on a bigger production next year?"

"I dunno, the licensing fees for Disney plays cost a bunch but people will come see them. Broadway's outrageous after all, people have to make do with the affordable options." Toby deposited two dollars into the glass jar and took one of the cookies, sinking his teeth in. "If being a regular chef doesn't pan out, open a bakery and be a pastry chef. You'll have a bunch of fat, happy customers. Myself being the first."

Jim rolled his eyes. People milled around the front door to the school, mostly theatre students contributing to the bake sale. His eyes tracked Claire as she came into view. "They're not that good Tobes. I mean, they're decent cookies, but you're exaggerating."

Toby gave him a look. "Hey Claire! Come here!" he called.

"Just a sec." Claire exited the building, looking a little haggard as she carried a banana cream pie. "I think this came out okay, I sure hope so…oh Jim, you brought cookies. Perfect."

Toby stuck two more dollars in the jar and pointed at the plate. "Try one. It's on me Nuñez. Jim thinks they're just 'okay.'" Claire took a cookie and nibbled at it. She chewed it slowly.

After a moment of consideration she pointed at the plate. "Jim, you can't make those very often. My cholesterol will skyrocket." She took another bite. "These are so good. Jim, you seriously think these are just 'okay?'"

"I guess I don't have much of a sweet tooth," he admitted. "Some sweets are fine, but I don't get too into them."

Toby sighed, lifting a hand as if to block the sight of the pastries. "I shall resist! Let the people donate for a good cause and partake. I'll get Nana's pies set up, she sent an apple and a cherry…"

As they were bees drawn to flowers, passerby approached the bake sale and were generous for the arts department. Claire helped run the transactions, making change and helping wrap up paper plates of goodies for those taking more than a few home. Jim and Toby fell in line doing the same; it felt weird to do something so ordinary, Toby thought. Battling troll enemies and assassins by night, working the bake sale by day.

All of the treats went fast, Jim's cookies included. Ms. Janeth came by the tables multiple times, checking on the status and looking thrilled. "This will really help with offsetting the costs for our next production! You're all doing wonderfully."

It felt nice to get praised. It didn't happen very often when teachers thought you were a bad student that skipped just for its own sake. Toby checked the time – barely eleven. The bake sale was supposed to go until two and they were nearly out. "We might have to wrap up early," he said. Claire chewed her lip.

"A few people weren't able to bring stuff. It'd be nice to raise more…Ms. Janeth really went all in for Romeo and Juliet. I know she put in her own money for the costumes, it'd be nice if she didn't have to do that next time." She looked at the tables, mentally calculating. "We've got the budget set up…a few hundred dollars more would have us in the sweet spot."

Mary passed by carrying a stack of paper plates. "Unless you want to work in the school kitchens, we're just going to have to make do," she said. Toby looked at her for a moment before turning to Jim.

"Y'know, I bet the others would get the ingredients if we asked…"

Jim's eyes trailed over to the school. "Well…I do owe Ms. Janeth for the extra credit." He rolled up his sleeves. "Tobes, I'm going to need to make a list."

Fifteen minutes found Jim, Claire, and Toby in the cafeteria kitchen, rolling out dough to his specifications. "One eighth of an inch, consistent so it bakes like we expect." Jim's motions were fast and practiced, and Toby didn't bother trying to keep pace with him. He went methodically, cutting shapes out of the flattened dough. Claire mixed the ingredients, struggling when the dough thickened up. "Normally I'd like to chill the dough but we don't really have time. They might not be quite the same but they should still be good." Jim spoke more to himself than to them.

Toby and Claire exchanged a look. Jim was in his element and it was pleasant to watch stress fall away and confidence take its place. Jim hummed as he worked, a habit Toby had almost forgotten he had when enjoying himself.

As the cookies baked the other students kept peeking into the room. Mary brought butter and eggs when they ran low, and Eli offered to take out the pans to cool them and make way for the next one. Shannon handled the front with Ms. Janeth, accepting donations and arranging the orders.

Two 'o' clock finally came, and Toby fanned himself with an oven mitt. "Phew! I think we're done." Claire had flour all over her arms and her hair was frizzing from the heat of the ovens. Jim looked tired but invigorated, and as they cleaned he was still humming.

By the time they got outside the others had nearly finished putting away the tables. "We made more than our best estimate! The next show will dazzle," Eli said, struggling under the weight of a stack of chairs. Mary caught the other side, helping him with the load.

"Thank you all! The fact that you came out here to help means a great deal to me." Ms. Janeth paused in front of Jim, Claire, and Toby. "You three really went above and beyond. You've definitely earned the extra credit Mr. Lake. And you two as well, though Ms. Nuñez doesn't really need it," she continued, looking at Toby and Claire.

The breeze was nice as they rode their bikes home, Toby relieved to be away from the heat of the ovens and the smell of cookies. "I wish all our problems could be solved by bake sales," he said aloud.

"I know right? Maybe the Gumm-Gumms would be willing to agree to a truce if we gave them a truckload?" Claire asked. The three laughed, Jim slowing up so he was level with the other two. "Even Gunmar probably likes a good cookie."

"I wish." Jim still seemed pleased. "I'll make you guys a special batch tomorrow. I'm kind of pastried-out for today."

"Considering you baked over twelve dozen cookies, I can't blame you Chef Jim." Toby sped past him, intent on working up a calorie deficit for the next day.

* * *

Gunmar did not tend to like human food. But when a changeling brought in a box and put it in what Otto called a "break room" – an ill-suiting name, as it didn't seem to be much for breaking things – he approached it and sniffed the air over it. "What is this?" he asked.

Otto bowed. "One of our members purchased pastries at the local school's bake sale. It is good for our human appearances if we contribute to the community. We're ingratiated to the human culture that way. They usually just bring them to the order and offer it to everyone." He looked into the box and pulled out one of the plates. "Ah, these are the source of the smell. Cookies."

Coo-key. What a name. It sounded like something a babe would make up. But the odor was pleasant. Gunmar took one off the plate, eying it dismissively. He put the object in his mouth, chewing it and swallowing. "Humans make such odd food. Have you readied the plans for tomorrow?"

"Yes! My liege, we should act before the Trollhunter even knows you escaped. I have several ideas that should prove very fruitful." Otto scurried out of the room and Gunmar waited quietly. He checked to make sure no one else was in the room before plucking another cookie out of the box and eating it as well.

Perhaps human food did have one or two standouts.

End of Prompt Twenty


	21. Chapter 21

Prompt Twenty-One

Spanish

(Mid-Season Two)

Google Translate was utilized for certain portions of Spanish. I beg your pardon if the translations are iffy, my Spanish days from college are a little fuzzy.

* * *

Jim might have taken fighting Bular and Angor Rot at the same time if it meant he was anywhere other than Claire's living room. Claire, of course, wasn't the issue.

Her father sat in a chair, reading a paper – or pretending to – and Jim wished he could think of something to say. Conversation to make. Claire's parents had wanted to meet her boyfriend. After the insanity of their barbecue, Jim was a little amazed they would let him within breathing distance of her, let alone into their house.

Enrique babbled from his toy walker, spinning a ball filled with plastic toys and cackling at the rattle. A part of Jim wished they knew that he'd helped rescue Enrique. Not that he wanted them to feel like they owed him or anything, but it would be nice if they knew he had a reason for being such a weirdo and running off all the time. It would be a lot easier if their parents knew.

He heard smatters of conversation from the kitchen. Claire and her mother were in there, and he wasn't sure if he'd rather be stuck on the couch beside a silent Javier and undergoing a silent, judging torment or dealing with Ophelia's accusatory gazes. Both felt pretty bad.

"No sé sobre este chico, Claire. Te mete en problemas." Claire's mother's voice was frigid, and Jim understood just enough Spanish to pick up "boy" and "problems." Was she saying he had problems? He and her were definitely in agreement if that was the case.

"Es un buen chico. Lo conozco mucho mejor que tú." Claire's reply was frosty as well and Jim forced himself to tune out the conversation. He could only pick up a little of it, they talked so quickly and fluently. Enrique made it easier not to listen as he was playing loudly, slapping different toys.

After a few more agonizing minutes, Ophelia stepped into the room. "The table is set. I hope chicken salad is all right?"

"That sounds great Mrs. Nuñez, thank you." She could have offered compost with a side of fertilizer and Jim would have pretended it was generous. She didn't quite like to look at him and Jim sagged with relief when she stepped past him and lifted Enrique out of his walker. "Mi precioso! It's time for dinner, yes it is."

He couldn't blame her for being angry. As far as they knew, he had thrown a house party while watching their child – Claire having snuck out to attend a concert made it all even worse – and acted like a total nutcase at their barbecue. And their perfect, darling daughter liked him for some reason. Jim glanced toward the ceiling, praying he didn't do or say anything to make them hate him more.

* * *

Claire's parents hated Jim. Well, maybe not fully hated, but they were close enough that Claire knew this was going to be difficult. It didn't matter how high she kept her grades or how obedient she was at home, the fact remained that they had an erroneous record of Jim's character and there was no way to fix it without opening a barrel of monkeys that would make a hundred other things a lot harder.

Her parents had wanted to "meet" him though. Without anyone else around. Claire thought of all the girls that had always told their parents, "You don't know him like I do!" and cringed to realize she'd fallen into that role. Except she was actually right and her parents literally didn't _know _him.

She set down the chilled plate of chicken salad, stacking fresh lettuce beside it. Just get through the dinner, she told herself. An uneventful evening was probably the best thing for the strained relationship.

Jim offered to put out the dishes and cutlery and her mother allowed it. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, as if she expected Jim to throw the dishes down to spite her. Jim did no such thing of course, setting everything neatly and carefully into place.

Enrique watched everything with interest. Claire paused to tickle his tummy, making him giggle. If her parents only knew how much their family owed Jim. Or how kind and fun he could be when he wasn't scared for everyone's lives.

When they all sat down, Claire took the place beside Jim, blocking him from sitting directly beside her father. Enrique was to his left and Mom sat across from Jim in order to be near the baby. When her father asked her how city council was going, Claire could have passed out with relief. Jim was quiet and Claire surreptitiously took his hand reassuringly once. He traced a thumb down her fingers and it calmed her a little.

"So Jim. You and Claire met while working on the play?" Mom was not to be dissuaded.

All calm was instantly gone. Jim released her hand and said, "Y-Yes. I mean, we'd seen each other around, but we started talking when she was trying to get people on board for the play."

"Yes. The play was very good. Claire has loved theatre for years now." Mom's tone was conversational. "What are your interests? I feel as though we don't know much about you."

"I like cooking. I'm, uh, interested in swordsmanship." Jim found respite in taking a bite of sandwich.

"And theatre, I assume?"

He choked a little. "Yes. That is, some. This was the first play I tried out for."

"That's interesting." Mom glanced at Claire and Claire gave her a sunny smile.

"Sounds kind of like the time you offered to help Papa raise money for his school soccer team. Even though you hated soccer." Mom gave her a look and Claire took a bite of her sandwich. If her mother wanted to make Jim a dumb boy only out to impress a pretty girl, she could make her into a hypocrite.

"We do things that aren't our favorite for people we care for," Papa said mildly. "This chicken salad is delicious dear."

"Thank you." Mom seemed appeased and Claire's irritation lowered. "I suppose it takes all sorts. Do you participate in cooking courses Jim?"

"Not much. I'd like to, but time just doesn't allow for a lot right now." Jim seemed to realize that Mom was probing him. He was trying to be honest – as much as things allowed – but Claire knew that her mother had a political mind. She was just trying to protect her family, and if it meant turning his own words on him, she would do it. Claire loved her mother, but she was increasingly fighting the urge to throw chicken salad in her face.

"I was just wondering. I thought maybe some of your absences would be related to such functions." Jim winced and Claire inhaled slowly.

"Jim was ill for a while, remember Mama?"

"Yes…it's just curious I never heard anything from his mother about it. The city council does attempt to be aware of significant occurrences and issues. In such a small town, I would have thought I'd have heard something about it is all." Mom took a bite and Papa seemed interested in his glass of water. "May I inquire as to the nature of the illness? They must have figured out a treatment."

"I…uh…it was a lot of flu-like symptoms." Jim seemed to be shrinking back a little. "Mom probably didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't contagious, but once people hear 'flu-symptoms' they get nervous."

"How interesting. So if I look up this occurrence in medical journals…" Mom began.

"Mama. Déjalo en paz." Claire glared at her. Mom's eyes were mistrustful.

"No dejaré que mi hija salga con un mentiroso." Claire's blood boiled and Papa touched Mom's shoulder. Jim wasn't a liar, her heart snarled. No more than any other person that had a good reason for keeping the truth hidden. As if Mom had never told a lie in her life-!

"Ri-ba!" The sound of Enrique's voice startled her out of her thoughts. He was smacking his high chair, looking at Jim. "Ri-ba! Ri-ba!" Enrique put out his arms insistently and Mom reached out to lift him. He squawked in protest, flailing and kicking until she put her hands down. Claire tried not to feel smug as the baby focused to his right.

"I think he wants you to pick him up Jim." He gave her a confused look. "He's trying to say, 'arriba.' It means 'up.'"

"Oh. Okay…uh…" Jim mumbled, standing up and carefully lifting the baby. Enrique didn't protest, babbling nonsense as Jim settled him against his front. "That what you wanted?"

Enrique grinned and cooed, drooling on Jim's sweater. Mom was watching closely. "He doesn't usually like strangers picking him up," she said finally, eyes softening.

He wasn't a stranger, Claire thought. Enrique had seen Jim in the darkest place imaginable, and in his developing mind he had connected Jim with the family, with protection and home. Jim had borne him out of the Darklands and something in Enrique understood that. Her parents couldn't see the real Jim, but Enrique could. Claire's heart warmed at the thought. "Hermanito likes you," she said casually, trying to let the moment cool tempers. "If you hold him a little while he'll be happy. He's a bit of an attention hound."

"You were the same was as a baby," Papa said. "It's no wonder you're suited to the theatre."

Claire nudged him. "Papa!"

The rest of dinner was…quiet. Not peaceful exactly, but Enrique had salvaged what might have been a nasty evening. Jim held him for half an hour and Enrique was happy, and if her mother had any well-intentioned barbs to throw, she had to look at a young man holding her child with care and consideration.

It was a little fitting, Claire thought as she cleared the dishes after dinner. Jim had saved Enrique. Now, well, Enrique had unwittingly returned just a little of the favor.

End of Prompt Twenty-One


	22. Chapter 22

Prompt Twenty-Two

Guidance

(Mid-Season Two)

* * *

Coach Thomas Lawrence didn't know what to do. He could throw a ball, bench over two hundred pounds, sub a class, and - to the surprise of most - was rather excellent at distinguishing cheeses.

But listening to a teenage boy cry in an empty locker room made him pause.

Lake had never been particularly wimpy. He was too scraggly for contact sports but he'd done an okay job in Little League. He'd always gotten back up if he fell, didn't quit. He was a decent kid. He'd been in more trouble lately than he'd ever been, but Coach Lawrence remembered high school. Things changed, came up.

He'd been sick for a while but apparently was doing better. Coach was glad for that. But people didn't usually sit around crying for no reason. How did one approach it? He wasn't particularly close to Lake and he didn't want to embarrass the kid. He wished Strickler hadn't had that family emergency and left out of the blue.

Coach Lawrence waited until the pained sounds had slowed before coughing loudly. The crying stopped and when he stepped out around the lockers - hopefully looking like he'd just been passing through - he paused. Jim had his face turned away. "Hey Lake. Running a little late?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry Coach." Jim pulled up the neck of his shirt and surreptitiously wiped his eyes. The hem of his shirt lifted a little and bruises became visible. Bright ones, all up his side.

Coach Lawrence's act dropped. "Lake, what happened to you!?" Jim started, dropping the shirt. The coach strode forward and sat on the bench beside him. "You're beat up six ways to Sunday kid." He gestured to another bruise on Jim's arm, one that was shaped uncannily like a balled up fist. It had the horrible coloration of one that was still healing, the sickly yellow atop purple. Another was visible along his upper arm, but before he could get a good look the sleeve covered it.

Jim fumbled for words. "I uh..."

Coach Lawrence planted a fist on the bench. "Who did this Lake? Do you need a hospital? I can get CPS if it's-"

Jim's jaw dropped. "You don't...you don't think my mom did this, do you!?"

Coach bit his tongue. "...I don't know who did it Lake. But you're hurt. Someone has been beating on you." Jim glared at him but Coach Lawrence glared back. "I'm not saying it's your Mom!" He paused and felt nauseous and livid all at once. "Oh Lake...it wasn't Strickler, was it? I knew he was visiting your house, but-"

"Wha-? No! I'm not being abused Coach! I know what it looks like, but I'm not! My illness makes me bruise a lot easier, and I've started...taking Krav Maga. For self defense." Jim crossed his arms. "Training isn't easy, but it's the best way to learn. I'm just aching a lot. My ibuprofen wore off so…it just got to be a lot."

Coach Lawrence blinked. That would explain the kid's sudden athleticism. And he used to get pretty beat up in wrestling practice. And he'd heard of diseases that made people bruise or bleed easy, even with as much care as possible. But something about Jim didn't sound honest. He peered at Jim suspiciously. "You're not covering for someone, are you? Because I don't care what anyone says kid, you never deserve to get hit. Anyone that lays a hand on you ain't your friend. Ever. I've got a couple contacts with CPS. Whatever is going on, you can be sure you'll be safe if you need to get out of a situation. I'll personally make certain of it."

Jim's irritation faded a little. "No, I'm not covering. But that's...really nice of you to say Coach." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Do you see a lot of cases like that? Where teens are getting…hurt?"

"A few a year." Coach Lawrence stood up uncertainly. "Lake, you swear those marks are from Krav Maga training? And your illness?"

"Yes, these marks are from training." Jim's voice was firm. "Tobes will vouch for me."

"It's okay kid, I believe you." Coach rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry Lake. It's just once you've had kids come in all beat up and thinking they deserved it...it drives you crazy. Because nobody deserves that, all right? If something changes and you need to get help, I want you to let me know. You call, text, heck, send an SOS by smoke signal."

Jim nodded. "Yes sir. I'm just sore. I should be back at it soon."

How sore did a kid have to be to make him cry? Coach Lawrence gave him a hesitant pat on the shoulder. "Well...sit out of gym the next couple of days. If you're training like that I'm sure you're meeting your exercise needs."

"Thanks Coach." Jim stood up, shouldering his book bag. "I mean it. It's nice to know you care."

Coach Lawrence grunted. "I've been a coach for twenty years. You don't do this kind of job and put up with guff from teens if you don't care about kids at least a little." Jim smiled and left the locker room. Feeling a little better, Coach still took out his phone and added Jim's name to a list of kids to keep an eye on. He joined seventeen others that claimed they were fine, but warranted checking in on.

Just to be safe.

End of Prompt Twenty-Two

* * *

This would take place right after Jim came out of the Darklands, so much of the bruising would have come from there, not his actual training. I always hated in the show how the teachers never seemed to notice how much Jim would have been acting differently from normal. I suppose this is just a snippet to explore that. I like the idea that the teachers must have wondered and cared, but I guess that wasn't something that made it to the screen. Just one of the problems of almost being old enough to be some of the characters' parent.


	23. Chapter 23

Prompt Twenty-Three

Young Atlas

(Post-Series)

Reference is made to various myths. I'm aware there are always variants in lore and mythos, but I've gone with those most recognized.

* * *

"Take your time Young Atlas." Strickler waited, wings opening a little in a stretch. "There's no rush."

Jim squinted at the book. "'For the myths…inspired…by the battles of the troll warriors were great…the accounts of Voltar are particularly…detailed." He closed his eyes and covered his face with his mismatching hands. "I'm never going to be able to read trollish fluently."

"It will likely take some time Jim. But you're progressing well." Strickler glanced up at the cave ceiling and listened to the distant drip of underground water. He'd taught in some dilapidated places, but this damp, unfinished, barely-lit-by-crystal cave? It ranked up there with the worst. "It might help if you had a quiet, insulated place to study."

Jim's shoulders slumped and Strickler noted that his t-shirt was already fraying from wear and tear. He was constantly busy. "Strickler, please don't take this the wrong way because I really do appreciate you trying to help me, but I don't have time to properly sleep, let alone find a cozy niche to read in."

Strickler nodded. "Of course." He hesitated while Jim pulled out a few sheets of paper from the dirty rucksack at his side. It contained a few items that didn't fit in his pockets, and Strickler felt sure Jim had found it in a dumpster. He made a mental note to tell Barbara that Jim needed a proper pack. Strickler had donned a glamor mask and, utilizing all the resources left in the Janus Order's Arcadia center – to be fair, not much – had procured a flight to New Jersey. The travel points had been enough to cover it.

He didn't trust Merlin. He trusted Blinky but a troll could not be expected to know all the needs of a hybrid being. No one could really, but as a changeling, Strickler had the best shot of anyone other than Nomura and NotEnrique. Claire was a sensible, responsible girl but she was still a teenager. It was unfair to expect her to handle all the emotional baggage that came with such changes.

And none of this might have happened if Strickler had only been faster, stronger. Rescued Barbara and got her home just a little faster. Jim wouldn't have been left alone with Merlin, and-

There was nothing for it now. Strickler watched Jim scribble onto the pages, as if trying to familiarize himself with the characters of the trollish alphabet. He looked uncomfortable sitting by the flat rock he was using as a table, as if his limbs were all too long for him to write comfortably. "Young Atlas, I have a few books that should help you pick up trollish more easily. I'll have them sent to you. I also brought those academic pamphlets you requested." He pulled a few out of his pant pocket. Adjusting his clothes for his troll form had been difficult, but his frame hadn't changed too terribly much. It hadn't required much tailoring. And it was better than running around in a loincloth all over town.

Jim accepted them, looking at the requirements. "I might be able to get a diploma, right?"

"Of course Young Atlas. Many people have obtained one even with disturbances to their education," Strickler said. Jim kept writing but he slowed.

"What's that name mean anyway?" Strickler cocked his head. "You said 'Atlas too held the world on his shoulders' or something. Who is Atlas supposed to be?"

"Oh dear. I really neglected your mythology education, didn't I?" Strickler stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Atlas was a titan, a powerful being in Greek mythology. The people of that time believed that Atlas held up the world as they knew it, not knowing as much about astronomy and gravity as we do now. An ingenious theory to be sure."

Jim grunted noncommittally. "He held up the Earth, huh? Sounds like a big job for one person."

It did. It really did. "Atlas did not only hold the world of men," Strickler said. "He held what was known as the celestial spheres. In those days, it was believed that the stars and the heavenly bodies were layered spheres roving around the Earth in a ring. Upon Earth all things rode and Atlas bore all."

Jim sighed. "Why? Because he was the only one who could do it? Destiny or something?" His tone had become flat and tired, and Strickler had to wonder how much "destiny" had come out of the mouth of those around him, well-meaning or otherwise. Strickler knew from experience the word only placated for so long.

Strickler considered his answer before deciding on truth. "Actually…he was sentenced to it as punishment. He and the other Titans fought against the beings that would become the gods of the Greeks, and when they were defeated the others were consigned to Tartarus. He, however, was assigned the role of bearing up the celestial spheres."

Jim looked at him, and Strickler instantly regretted speaking. He seemed really interested, but it wasn't a warm, intrigued interest. It was more like disbelief. "He was punished? That's why he held up everything? He…he didn't have a choice?"

"There are multiple accounts," Strickler said at last. "But most historians recount the tale as a punishment. Not a duty he elected to take." Jim lowered his eyes to the stone he'd been using to provide backing for his paper.

"Did he ever get a break?"

"Well, there are two stories he's best known for. One deals with Perseus and the other with Heracles – Hercules to the Romans." Strickler sat down in front of him. "Heracles was tasked with gathering golden apples from the Hesperides, Atlas' daughters. Obviously Atlas himself would be ideal for fetching them, so he requested the titan's assistance. He held up the spheres while Atlas went to obtain the apples, and Atlas returned, intending to take his freedom for good. Heracles asked him to take the burden back a moment so he could make himself a support. When Atlas agreed, Heracles took the apples and left Atlas to…his…"

Jim's expression was even sadder if that was possible. "So he had a chance at freedom, but because he did something kind, he got trapped again?" Strickler stared at him. That was true. Well, as true as any myth was. Jim put down his pencil, clumsy hands resting against the rock. "And the story of Perseus?"

"That one took place before the tale of Heracles." Strickler glanced at the cave walls and checked his phone. "You know, perhaps we've taken enough time."

"Strickler. What happened in that story?" Jim's eyes were tired and Strickler hated himself.

"In that one, he had heard a prophecy that a son of Zeus would take the golden apples and set himself against the person – ironic, considering it Heracles in that other story that actually did it. Perseus, being one of Zeus's many offspring, seemed to fit the bill. Perseus is known for slaying the Medusa, and with her head he turned Atlas-"

He stopped, realizing what he was about to say. Jim looked away. "I know about the Medusa. So Atlas got turned into stone."

Strickler had felt heartbreak. Barbara turning away from him in disgust after her injury had been unbearable. But there was something defeated in Jim's motions that took all the fight out of him. "Yes. That's how the story goes. This didn't last obviously, as Heracles came later."

Jim stood up. "Strickler, I…I think I am pretty well finished for the day. Thanks for working with me on this." He was taller than Strickler now, hair wild and thick like an animal's, coarse, and-

Strickler hugged Jim with his arms and wings. If Jim was surprised, he was too low to care about reacting. "I did not give you the name 'Young Atlas' because I thought this…any of it…would happen. I called you that because you bore up under heavy weight and endured. Atlas was known for his strength. That was all I ever meant from it Jim."

"I know. I guess it just drives it home. How much what I was supposed to do was laid out for me." Jim leaned against Strickler, returning the hug lethargically. "Or maybe it's all just coincidence. Or a cosmic joke. I don't know. I don't really want to think about it."

"Of course." Strickler released him. "I'll assist you with the project again later. When you feel up to it."

"Thanks." Jim left the room, and Strickler picked up the papers and pencil he'd been using. His writing was clumsy, disjointed, worse than before. He hadn't quite gotten used to his mismatching hands. Strickler stacked the pages neatly and took them with him as he left the tiny chamber.

Changelings didn't accept the status quo. They survived it. Strickler's fingers clenched around the stack of paper. He found the tiny opening he was calling home while in what would become the new Trollmarket, barely more than a closet-sized cave, and put his things down. After a minute of thinking, he opened his case, tucked into the corner, and pulled out a laptop. He stored many books on it, and not just human ones. Technology was too convenient not to utilize and he needed particular old books for reference now.

All things had once been impossible. Men flying, traveling across the planet in hours, going to the moon, none of it would have been believed when Merlin was fighting Morganna. Impossible to return a person to their true form? Strickler snorted. Maybe for the lazy, for those unwilling to pore over books for hours, days, even months if it required to find a new way. Magic was mad and wild, but it too operated by laws. It had rules.

Strickler began to read, making notes as he went. It didn't matter how long it took, he would find a way to open a new door, a new path. Jim deserved someone to go to bat for him against the "impossible," at least enough that he could make his own choices again instead of being cut off from so many. Why not a Changeling, a being whose existence was an abomination against both worlds? Why not a creature that had once been believed impossible but stood now, defiant against it all?

Atlas would be freed from his tyrannical burden. Strickler swore it.

End of Prompt Twenty-Three


	24. Chapter 24

Prompt Twenty-Four

Trolls, Trolls, Trolls!

(Post-Series, Human Jim)

* * *

"So let me see if I understand you." Claire rubbed her eyes to get rid of the sleep. "NotEnrique and Glug, you had a disagreement."

"I just said the most recent batch of glug was a little on the sweet side! It wasn't bad, just a little sweet! And Glug flips her lid!" NotEnrique gave the sullen Quaggawump a look. "She said if I didn't like it I could make my own!"

"No one knows how hard it is to make good glug! Don't have supplies, hard to find roots in new places!" Glug crossed her arms. "Tired of people complaining!"

"I just said it was a little sweet! Anyway…I figured, being an enterprising sort, that she meant what she said! Two folks making drinks will lessen the burden, expand the market to different tastes!" NotEnrique put up his hands. "I ask you, what's the problem?"

"You will take Glug's patrons! Copy recipe!" Glug made a fist and shook it in his face. "I punch people for less!"

"I didn't 'copy' anything! Certain ingredients are needed for both drinks because they're _drinks_. How can I make a drink without water?" NotEnrique yelled back. "It ain't an exclusive ingredient!"

Claire looked down at her pajamas. Pink and purple skulls dotted the fleece bottoms. She should be in bed with her husband, snuggled up in their alcove with the light crystals dimmed to a perfect, soft gold. But, she thought, if there were things more important than being cozy in bed sleeping – there were but right now that sounded _really _appealing – Jim was one of them. The indignant squawks had woken her and she'd gotten up, leaving him still sleeping, and if she could solve this dumb argument she could slip back in bed and feel the satisfaction of dealing with a dumb problem and taking one off his list.

So there she stood, in pajamas, listening to the spat.

"Glug confronted NotEnrique," she said at last, "and there was a fight. What happened?"

Both trolls suddenly looked embarrassed and churlish. "We, uh…mighta got a little out of hand." NotEnrique turned away. "I broke her tub. I only meant to knock it over but I put a hole in it and it broke apart. And she knocked over my little batch I was making in a bucket!"

"I can no longer make glug! You know what trolls are like when they have no glug!?" The Quaggawump threw up her hands. "Anarchy! Chaos! Cannot make enough glug in a bucket!"

"I said I'm sorry! I'll try to fix it! But you weren't able to meet demand in the first place!" NotEnrique scratched his diaper. "And then we were punching and kicking, and mighta broken some light crystals…and hit Blinky in the nose when he tried to break us up."

Ah. So that was why another party had been involved. It was hard to be impartial when your nose was smarting. Claire looked around the pub, chairs strewn everywhere from the brawl and light crystals cracked and flickering. Glug's woebegone tub lay on its side like a weeping maiden, green liquid still pooled in the curve of the chunks. Claire pushed her hair back. "I think I have a solution. Let me present it to you."

Both trolls adjusted so they were facing her. "NotEnrique, you know I love you like a brother. But you damaging Glug's tub was way out of line. She's entitled to a replacement. I'm putting you in charge of finding a new tub or container of equal capacity. You will also work with Glug for a month to help get glug supply back up."

NotEnrique muttered but nodded. Glug looked gratified. Claire raised a finger. "However, you both should have settled the dispute without fighting. You both have to clean up the pub and chisel the new light crystals."

Glug sighed. "Fair enough."

Claire mulled over her next point. "And regarding the supply of glug, I do think it's too much for one person to do. And trolls really do like to have plenty of it. Instead of making your own NotEnrique, why not work _with_ Glug? You could make more together than if you're squabbling."

The two glanced at each other. Claire folded her arms. "Think about it. NotEnrique could help test flavors and gather new ingredients, Glug has the experience and a helper, and a new container once you find one. The market has more glug. Everyone wins out. Just think about it?"

"Well…I guess that might work." NotEnrique rubbed his chin thoughtfully with a tiny hand. "We could even get a bunch of tubs, age the glug a while. Whaddya say?"

Glug slowly nodded. "We shall see. Trial period." She inclined her front to Claire. "Fair decision. Appreciate your help."

"No problem, glad to be of assistance." Claire left the pub, finally sighing with relief. "I don't know how Jim deals with all the different trolls every day," she said softly. Surely she loved the trolls as her own family, but criminy.

She returned to their alcove and slipped under the blanket, pressing her front to Jim's back. He stirred as she settled in. "S'mthin' wrong?" he mumbled.

"Nah. No problem. Get some sleep hon." She kissed the back of his neck and he relaxed again. He would have a full day tomorrow – every day was a full day in Trollmarket. If picking up an occurrence at night helped out, Claire was more than willing.

Such was the lot of one living with trolls.

End of Prompt Twenty-Four


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